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dumbass-sappho-stan · 3 days

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hit first and hit hard || challengers

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ꜰᴇᴀᴛᴜʀɪɴɢ: ᴀʀᴛ ᴅᴏɴᴀʟᴅꜱᴏɴ, ᴘᴀᴛʀɪᴄᴋ ᴢᴡᴇɪɢ, ᴛᴀꜱʜɪ ᴅᴜɴᴄᴀɴ

— fem! reader

summary: the tennis girl weaves her way through simple lover's quarrels and one manipulative blonde boy.

𝘞𝘢𝘳𝘯𝘪𝘯𝘨𝘴: 𝘢𝘯𝘨𝘴𝘵, 𝘭𝘪𝘨𝘩𝘵 𝘴𝘦𝘹𝘶𝘢𝘭 𝘤𝘰𝘯𝘵𝘦𝘯𝘵, 𝘴𝘭𝘪𝘨𝘩𝘵 𝘷𝘪𝘰𝘭𝘦𝘯𝘤𝘦(?), 𝘥𝘳𝘶𝘨𝘴/𝘢𝘭𝘤𝘰𝘩𝘰𝘭, 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘢 𝘷𝘦𝘳𝘺 sleepy 𝘛𝘢𝘴𝘩𝘪 𝘋𝘶𝘯𝘤𝘢𝘯

ᴀᴜᴛʜᴏʀ'ꜱ ɴᴏᴛᴇ: ʜɪ! ɪ'ᴍ ꜱᴏ, ꜱᴏ ʜᴀᴘᴘʏ ᴇᴠᴇʀʏᴏɴᴇ ʟᴏᴠᴇᴅ ᴛʜᴇ ꜰɪʀꜱᴛ ᴄʜᴀᴘᴛᴇʀ, ʏ'ᴀʟʟ ᴀʀᴇ ꜱᴏ, ꜱᴏ ꜱᴡᴇᴇᴛ! ɪ ʜᴏᴘᴇ ʏᴏᴜ ᴇɴᴊᴏʏ ᴛʜɪꜱ ᴄʜᴀᴘᴛᴇʀ ᴀɴᴅ ᴘʟᴇᴀꜱᴇ ʟɪᴋᴇ ᴀɴᴅ ᴄᴏᴍᴍᴇɴᴛ! ɪ'ᴠᴇ ᴅᴇᴛᴇʀᴍɪɴᴇᴅ ᴛʜᴇʀᴇ ᴡɪʟʟ ʙᴇ ꜰᴏᴜʀ ᴘᴀʀᴛꜱ ᴛᴏ ᴛʜɪꜱ, ꜱᴏ ɪ ʜᴏᴘᴇ ʏ'ᴀʟʟ ʟɪᴋᴇ ɪᴛ.

🇼🇴🇷🇩 🇨🇴🇺🇳🇹: 7.7k

Read Part One here!

𝙋𝙖𝙧𝙩 𝙏𝙬𝙤: 𝙇𝙞𝙣𝙜𝙚𝙧

𝙎𝙏𝘼𝙉𝘿𝙁𝙊𝙍𝘿, 𝘾𝘼𝙇𝙄𝙁𝙊𝙍𝙉𝙄𝘼, 2007

𝘚𝘵𝘢𝘯𝘧𝘰𝘳𝘥 𝘜𝘯𝘪𝘷𝘦𝘳𝘴𝘪𝘵𝘺

The days following your fight with Art were rife with silence and solitude. Sequestered alone in your dorm, you lay there either working on your piling homework or listening to 'emo'-esque music to help funnel your emotions, but that still didn't help.

As much as you hate to admit it the one thing that did was tennis. Wanting to avoid Art and even Tashi, you went as early as possible. Every morning since the fight for at least a solid week, you got up at 4:30 AM, dressed, jumped the court fence to practice for about 5 hours, and exited just as the other 'early' players showed up.

It invigorated you to be energized early in the day and you sometimes smashed the ball or even your racquet if you felt like it. Being alone wasn't a new circumstance for you but it was certainly novel as of late. You were so used to Art's presence on the court and in your life.

Dinners were spent together, and silly chats you two had were the norm for at least a year. Not to mention the bizarre push and pull with the romantic tension between you two. Even before Stanford, you'd labored to get his phone number, after begging Tashi for a few days and speaking to him on the phone constantly.

Though, the blonde seemed just as ardent as you in your aversion to one another. He had tried calling you multiple times and texting but it was fruitless. You'd picked up the phone once to only put it back down.

⋆★⋆

"I'm so sorry," Art sobbed, he sounded as if someone had stabbed him, "I'm so, so sorry." You said nothing and stayed neutral. You, unfortunately, picked up the phone after Donaldson had called it 23 times in the past 2 days, and decided the 24th would be the last. It was time to be the bigger person and end the fight between you two.

"Me too, Art." Muttering drily you heard his hiccups stop, and a loud sigh of relief. You could almost feel the weight being lifted off of his shoulders.

He whispered your name softly, "I never meant to hurt you. I just... I wanted to say what I thought you wanted."

A sharp pain shot through your chest as those lethal words left his lips and pure white-hot vexation replaced whatever emotion had been there previously. It was silent between the two of you, which confused the boy.

Art called your name but was interrupted, "You know what I want Art Donaldson?" You roared, "For your fucking castration to be slow and painful!"

⋆★⋆

The poor cutesy, pink Motorola Razr was no longer a phone after the conversation and lay shattered on your floor for days before you finally felt bad and threw it out. Your new one, a hue of bright cherry red, felt much more fitting for this new lifestyle.

Tashi you didn't actually avoid, more like you didn't tell her what was wrong. If beating around the bush was a professional sport you would've left tennis ages ago. Every time you and Tashi would be talking, in your small instants outside of your room or the court that week, Art would approach and you'd immediately give these automated lines;

"Oh shit, Tashi, sorry I got an essay to write!"

"Oops! I forgot I had a thing I have to get to so.."

"It's what time? I gotta go walk my fish!"

Ausispously, these went unnoticed by Tashi because in every single one of the instances you slipped away back to your dorm and to your desolation, without as much as a blink from your friend. If you weren't so content in your loneliness you probably would have been much more uncertain or at least unhappy about her sudden disconnect from you, but chalked it up to Patrick being in town for a longer period.

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𝗞𝗡𝗢𝗖𝗞 𝗞𝗡𝗢𝗖𝗞

The loud pounds landed dully against your door and woke you up immediately. Your body sat up and the sun's harsh blare into your tiny room flashed in your face, nearly blinding you upon waking up. You frantically glanced around your dorm room, seeing if it was something inside rather than external.

But no, all in your room were your postered walls full of music artists, art pieces themselves, silly photos of you and your friends from home (though most of those photos were overshadowed by Tashi's), and other miscellaneous items that sat around. In the small moment of silence between pounds, you began to slightly enjoy the pleasing sight of how pretty your room looked in the California dawning sun.

However, you were quickly slapped back into reality because the pounding had not ceased; seemingly getting louder if it was imaginable. What the fuck... That specific thought rattled through your foggy brain and your face contorted to deep confusion—even fear. Yet, you finally got the motivation to gradually inch toward the door, not even knowing who the fuck could be on the other side. The door rattled and shook explosively the closer you got until a hand to the handle.

The metal felt cool and smooth under your grasp. Soon flinching at the pounding and slightly wondered how your neighbors didn't get pissed off yet. But, you focused and opened the door.

Then there he was, Patrick Zweig, in all his glory posed in a mid-pound gesture at your dorm room door, staring straight at you.

"Hi,"

"Hey..."

Patrick soon pushed his way past you, walking into your dorm unphased. "Okay, just come right in.." You muttered, shutting the door behind you before turning to him. He stood in the middle of your room, inspecting it like he's the fucking DA. Nevertheless, he looked quite pretty as he was dressed in a simple white t-shirt with some dorky slogan and jorts—fit for California weather.

The silence was palpable between you two, Patrick seemed unbothered, almost jovial, and the signature devilish glint in his eyes. You, in contrast, glared at him like he was the spawn of Satan.

"Don't you look joyful?" Patrick chuckled, a playful smile soon following. Your scowl didn't budge but despite that, he came toward you with arms open wide, and enclosed you in a hug, "I'm certainly happy to see you." His words were muffled in the tangled mess that was your hair at this early of an hour. You hugged back briefly, then pressed him off.

"Pounding at my door at..." You glanced at the digital clock, "Jesus Christ, 7:15 in the morning?!" A small chuckle left Patrick again at his ability to get a rise out of you. You crossed your arms angrily and pinched the bridge of your nose with a sigh.

"Well, I'm eager to see one of my two special girls," He quipped, leaning back on your window sill with a surprising suaveness. That had become his nickname for you and Tashi over the past months. His 'special' girls were his way of flirting with you and getting on your nerves all at the same time. Both he and your best friend found it hilarious.

"Zweig, you have a pretty fucking odd way of showing 'enthusiasm'," A scoff left your lips just as you sauntered to the bathroom that was tangent to your room. The brunette soon followed and leaned on the doorway as you started your routine.

"I adore you, pookie!" A shutter audibly left you when he drawled out the terribly cheesy nickname. That one was the worst.

"Bleugh," You gagged, "Jesus Christ, Patrick why can't you be normal?" Somehow you frowned even deeper if that was even possible.

The boy laughed in reply, "Because who would be around to force you to have some fun?" Patrick looked at you with those eyes, his pretty forestry eyes that have broken hearts all across the country, they were meant for you. It made you want to stare back with your own, basking in it like a summer's day. And that smile, god— his smile was the sun itself. If Art was the ice, Patrick was the fire, the sun. The sun's light could always melt the winter's snow, you assumed he was with Tash for that similar reason. Opposites attract.

You started to feel yourself blush, your mind overthinking and repeating thoughts that all were about him, Patrick.

Patrick, Patrick, Patrick.

Hastily, you rushed to turn on the faucet and started to forcefully wash your face. Hopefully, it would wash away the shame that overtook the sudden rush of emotions for your best friend's boyfriend. Damnit, this is what happens when you don't get laid for a week... Scolding yourself internally, you washed your face and sighed to look back at him. As you expected, his eyes were still on you. But something had changed, the playfulness just wasn't there. It was something else, but you didn't have the time to place it before he looked away.

"So," Patrick spoke your name, "I haven't seen you for my entire time here, and..." He paused for effect, "I missed you."

You gasped dramatically and put a hand to your chest, "Me? Patrick Zweig misses me?" Teasing him with a smile, "What an honor! What's next, I get taken to the Dollar Tree?"

Laughter bounced off the small walls as the two of you were terribly unfunny and it was mutually known. It didn't stop you two from laughing at the stupidity of it. The laughter endured for a moment or two before it died down.

"But really," Patrick started to pull himself together, "I did miss you. Y'know how Art is these days, and Tashi only wants to talk about fucking tennis..." He stepped closer to you, close enough for his hand to slightly caress your free arm. "You're honestly my only friend right now..."

You laugh awkwardly, eyes darting everywhere from his own. Patrick was looking at you, you knew it, but if you looked now you wouldn't be responsible for what you would do after. Self-control was one of the better traits you'd taken from Tashi—you stepped away from his touch and smiled thinly.

"Oh come on Patrick," The shitty tile of your bathroom floor seemed more and more interesting as the seconds passed, "Tashi's just trying to help you." You knew what he was referring to as Tashi complained of Patrick's inability to listen to criticism.

Patrick scoffed at this and rolled his eyes, regardless didn't reply. He dropped the subject, realizing ages ago you'd always choose to defend Tashi over anyone else. He shifted back to his original plan.

"Okay, that's whatever, would you like to go out tonight then?" He asked, his original jovial tone returning, and suddenly like that, everything was okay. The bizarre tension was gone and you could meet his gaze with a knowing face.

"I'll think about it." That answer seemed good enough for Patrick, you witnessed a cheesy exclamation and a terrible fist pump to follow. You sighed at his absurdity but it finally got him out of your doorway as he sauntered back out to your room.

"Great! I'll see you at 8 tonight," He announced, walking toward the door and out the door before he could hear your faint, "Patrick I don't-"

It was suddenly silent in your dorm again. Which, you were grateful for as it meant now you had time to concentrate; you could possibly continue your new 15-step life plan of isolation and become the second-best tennis-female player of all time, Tashi would be the first. Or get black-out drunk tonight and forget all about everything. Each option was very crucial.

A few hours of homework later, you had determined two things like you had done a week ago. One, yes you did need to get black-out drunk, Two, you had to make more male friends that weren't your best friend's boyfriend or said boyfriend's best friend.

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The club was hot and sweaty, it felt as if it'd swallow you whole with the number of people who crowded around you. Dancing, grinding, touching. You hadn't drunk enough alcohol for you to start to enjoy this feeling so off to the bar you went. Patrick followed in tandem, keeping a good trail on you as he was the "designated driver", though you were sure that both of you were going home in a taxi that night.

Patrick ordered a round of 10 shots of assorted types of strong-smelling alcohol and smiled at you, though the smile made you queasy. It exactly mirrored Tashi's smile when she forced you to do shit.

"My favorite girl, pick your poison," The brunette snickered, taking in the blank features that had taken over. "Unless you're a pussy."

"Oh, I'm a pussy?" You raised your eyebrow in defiance, "Please, Patrick, watch and learn." Mirroring his confident smirk, you picked up one random shot and took it back. Then another, and another, and another... Soon there were only 3 shots left for your friend and your tongue started to go numb. The boy laughed at your efforts and followed your lead by taking the rest of the shots.

Shortly, you were on the dance floor, the colored lights seemed so much more welcoming and the touch of strangers felt like a blaze. You drunkenly danced with Patrick, spinning and moving against each other, hands above the waist for both of you as it felt anything but personal. Occasionally you two would make eye contact for too long and would just erupt in giggles and he'd take you for another spin. Patrick knew how to have fun and pulled you along for the ride.

During some Nelly Furtado song, you'd finally gotten fatigued of the club after who knows how long of dancing, drinking, and other illicit activities that involved a certain plant. You tugged at Patrick's collar of his shirt and he stopped his movement.

"Patrick," You slurred, "I wanna go home.." He looked down at your figure and nodded his head. Patrick led you off of the dance floor and finally outside of the club. You clutched onto his shirt on the walk to the car, which honestly felt like miles. Patrick filled the air with little comments about the people who had filled the club and it made you giggle. Though, as drunk as you were anything could've made you laugh.

"Yes! The car!" The grip on his shirt tightened as you through one of your hands in the air in celebration, "I'm so fuckinggg... tired.." You dragged out your constants as you both made your way to the car. Ultimately, it was more like Patrick was walking and you slanted onto him, trotting along.

"Mhm," Patrick hummed, he'd kept one hand on your waist but you hadn't really noticed it. There were many things you didn't notice in your inebriated state.

Patrick, luckily, hadn't drunk as much as you and was sober enough to drive you home. You laid your head comfortably on the window as you observed the blackened city and yellowed road soar past you. It was serene, you and Patrick. It was the first time in the past week you felt a smidge above the bare minimum. Your head was hazy and everything felt so miniature; boxed in.

The ride home was rather reserved, with no one speaking other than you drunkenly giving him directions to your dorm. Eventually, after he had to call Tashi, he stopped in front of the building.

"We're here, Sleeping Beauty," Patrick murmured quietly, slightly nudging you with his hand. When you responded with a groan, he sighed and got out of the car. You perked up a bit and lazily followed his figure until he opened the door. The lack of movement signaled to Patrick that he would be the one to get you out of this car.

Patrick heaved you out of your seat, to your disdain, and he held you close as he closed the passenger door behind you. Your face was squashed in the curve of his neck. He smelt like really lovely cologne and sweat.

Looking up at him, Patrick met your gaze with his own and smiled, "Hi." You smiled back, "Hey.." His hand stayed trained on your waist and you felt that warmth. The fervor you felt that night in the hotel room. It pooled deep inside of you, and it made the stupid smile on your face grow even wider.

"What are you smiling at?" Patrick grinned at your behavior and his hand that had been unlocking the door moved up to cup your cheek. Both of you stood there under the cloak of the night sky, staring foolishly at one another. He softly said your name, "What are you smiling at, pretty girl?"

The tone of his voice was something you'd never be able to interpret in your lifetime. Forgotten among memories and the intoxication, you thought about what led to the position you were in years later, and next to that night in the hotel room, this seemed to be another flick to the dominos collapsing.

Patrick didn't wait for your response, his lips were already on yours. He felt needy in this kiss, it was long and passionate. Your eyes were clenched shut, the euphoria you felt from being so out of it momentarily leaving your body to replace it with stone-cold regret. The kiss was split when you finally pushed one hand to his chest.

"Patrick?" You muttered, "What the fuck?" Patrick's air sobered at your words. He looked at you, the mere panic very visible on his face. Had he fucked up?

"What?" The brunette laughed humorously, "Did I, erm..." He was searching through his lexicon to say anything that could save whatever the hell just happened.

The shame began to quickly devour you, a sickish feeling overtaking your senses. Whatever just happened mortified you to no extent. You staggered back from Patrick, finally meeting his frenzied eyes.

Your eyes started to gloss over and you cried. Tears fell freely down your face as you felt the humiliation slap you in the face. All of it. The humiliation of Art not even liking you, Tashi's carelessness this week, and then this. The culmination of the efforts from the four of you, kissing your best friend's boyfriend. Or rather he kissed you, but what was the true distinction?

"What the fuck Patrick!?" You roughly wiped the tears that continued to fall, "What the fuck is wrong with you?" Patrick said nothing, only stared, so similar to his best friend.

"Jesus... The both of you!" You barked, "The both of you two fucking astound me." Your words were sharp and cutting bore into Patrick, apparently, that's what got him.

"What," His voice trailed off as his demeanor only heightened in puzzlement, "What do you mean both?"

"You and your fuck-face friend, that's who!" Your words blended together, as unfortunately, you were still pretty shit-faced. "You and Art fucking around with my head..."

Patrick tensed, "Art's fucking with your head?"

"Yes!" You replied, throwing your hands out in anger, "He's still in love with your girlfriend, and decided to fuck me on the side!"

Patrick's eyebrows raised, he knew Art was trying to manipulate the situation by trying to break him and Tashi apart but he didn't know that you were weaved in here too.

"That's... fucked up." He attempted to comfort you, very awkwardly.

"Yes, it is fucked up Patrick, almost as fucked up as you kissing me." You shot back venomously, narrowing your eyes at him. Patrick went quiet for a beat. He looked at you, looked away, and back at you. He seemed to be deliberating something.

"There's nothing fucked up about it," He finally answered, "I wanted to."

An involuntary gasp slipped from your lips. Your face contorted. "What?"

"I want you."

It felt like a gallon of cold water splashed on you. You stumbled back even further from the boy, your expression no longer confused but mortified.

Thundering down the sidewalk, you callously ran to where you didn't know. You heard Patirck's calls after you but they didn't matter. It wasn't as if he ran after you. The haze from everything that had happened still lingered as you ran. The thoughts bombarded your mind aimlessly, wondering what Patrick meant or what he might say to Tashi.

Tashi...

You'd raced so far that you were there at her dorm, which was seated right next to the tennis courts. Vision hazy, you tumbled into the building. It felt dingy and humid and walking through the corridors you tripped about six times and fully fallen over 3; that didn't stop you though from your destination.

By the grace of god, you handled yourself well enough to place three ordered knocks on Tashi's door, then slump to the floor with a deep sigh. Honestly, you didn't expect her to open the door. You didn't know what time it was but it was late enough into the night (or the early hours of the morning), that the rest of the world was silent.

Everything went silent for a moment as you stared at that wooden door. You focused on a dent in the door itself, right near the handle. You were so immersed in the indentation that you didn't notice the door hinged open.

"Well, well, well... look who it is," Tashi stared down at you with a slight smile. There she was.

"Tashi!" Your mood was instantly lifted at her company and smiled right back. The nastiness, the dread, and the remorse were lifted instantly once you saw her. She let out a sigh once she saw your state— your outfit was skimpy, mascara and eyeliner were smeared all over your face, and you looked like you'd cried a river.

"Christ," She sighed out your name, "Can't you have a good night?"

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You and Tashi lay on her bed peacefully, and you exchanged no sentiments in those moments. She'd washed you up from your sordid state and now she was tracing designs in the curve of your hip. Tashi laid her chin on your head and you nestled on her collarbone. This was a frequent situation for either of you, as, during tournaments during your adolescent year, nights were spent braiding each other's hair, swapping secrets with smiles, and just being girls.

"So, are we going to talk about it?" Tashi hummed, staring out into her own cluttered room. Smiling like a fool you replied, "Talk about what?"

"Art, he told me about what happened." She continued, her hand moved from your hip to your hair. Tashi threaded her fingers through it gently and you let out a giggle.

"Pfft, Art.. that stupid, dumb blonde," Laughter filled the room, and you drew your head away from Tashi to meet her. "He's just stupid, that's all."

Tashi held back her own laughter at your intoxicated words, "I see.." You nodded in confirmation and laid back down cuddled back in. "Well, I just wanted you to know that this week I wasn't trying to avoid you," She resumed, "Art just told me about your emotional state, and knowing you, I know you like space."

You hoisted your head again and sneered, "You'd believe that twink?" Tashi giggled and rolled her eyes, "I don't think you can say that anymore," She spoke your name in a scold, "But, yes I did, he's pretty fucking convincing you know."

"Yeah, yeah, yeah... Convincing my ASS," Your eyebrows drew together in irritation at the mention of the boy, "He's stupid, just like the other one.."

Dead air obscured the room again, the only sound being you and Tashi's breathing. The warmth you'd felt from the alcohol returned again, but it felt different. It didn't feel as murky or slowing, it felt good. Yet, the disgrace from earlier was still in the back of your mind. You knew the next day would hold so much bullshit for you and your friend depending on Patrick's efforts or if Art decided to tell Tashi whatever Patrick would recount to him. The involvement of the two boys had made everything so muddled.

"Tashi,"

"Hm?"

"Promise me you'll love me forever?" You asked quietly, finally breaking the tranquility. The voice you had dawned felt foreign to you, it was desperate, vulnerable. Tashi pulled herself away from you to meet your eyes. Her deep sharp eyes scrutinized you with an unreadable gaze.

"What do you mean?" She asked, trying to laugh it off with a dry chuckle.

"I said what I meant," You slurred in reply, a pout, "Will you love me forever?"

Tashi scoffed, "I'm not fucking Mother Theresa," She said your name with a mocking edge. "You're my best friend, I..." Tashi stopped to carefully phrase her words so you could understand in your blitzed condition. "I like you more than any other person on planet Earth."

Your pout formed into a frown, and you stayed silent. Tashi then exhaled wearily, knowing she'd hurt your feelings but didn't say anything. It was a staring contest that you wouldn't win. Tashi did like you a lot, more than she liked her family, friends, and her boyfriend. But she wasn't good at pretending—she couldn't pretend she loved more than one thing. She loved one thing, and one thing only; Tennis.

"Then I'll love you enough for the both of us." That response caught Tashi off guard and she blanked. "I'll love you seeds and all, Tashi Duncan." The announcement of your love for her wasn't on the list of things Tashi thought she would've heard tonight. A nervousness overtook her but you didn't notice, you just stared in determination.

"Seeds and all?" Tashi questioned, her demeanor shifted to something a bit fainter, similar to yours.

"Yes, Tashi, seeds and all," You said it as if it was the most common thing in the world and laid back down. A sudden wave of exhaustion had washed over you, it was so easy to fall asleep. Despite this, Tashi stayed awake and watched you. It wasn't uncommon for you to say sappy shit and for Tashi to combat it with banter, but this felt more amorous; for the first time in the girl's life, she felt confused.

Tashi glanced back down at your sleeping figure. You looked so peaceful and pretty. An involuntary grin graced her features as she lay next to you. Her face was inches away from your own, bringing her hand to brush away some stray pieces of your hair to simply stare at you.

"I love you too," The girl muttered your name, kissing the apple of your cheek, turning around to her side of the bed, and falling into a slumber soon after. Tashi had assumed you were sleeping and wouldn't remember it even if you weren't. But, unfortunately for her, you had heard.

Tashi Duncan loved you.

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𝘾𝙄𝙉𝘾𝙄𝙉𝙉𝘼𝙏𝙄, 𝙊𝙃𝙄𝙊, 2011

𝘊𝘪𝘯𝘤𝘪𝘯𝘯𝘢𝘵𝘪 𝘖𝘱𝘦𝘯

The hotel bar's music softly played through the speakers, setting a particular homely affection amid the room. A few people were there, tennis players and normal patrons alike, drinking or crying over their loss today. Cincinnati, Ohio was one of the last stops any of these players had of making it to the US Open but unfortunately, they didn't make the cut.

You on the other hand? The 15-step plan was in motion but this time you'd be first. Going pro three years ago was one of the best decisions you'd made, in your life. The dream was cradled in the palm of your hand. Young, beautiful, determined, the brands just ate you up.

Being sponsored by Nike, doing commercials for popular products, and selling out was pretty amicable. The celebrity that came with it was a sweet taste that you sunk your teeth in. People shouted your name on the street and begged for your signature, they wanted you. The only downside was that now and again you'd have to see him.

God, You thought, when was the last time I heard this song... Instead of nursing your drink, you glanced around the room, observing the players. You recognized some from previous competitions and some you'd played today. Suddenly, noticing how everyone had someone to talk to, it was exposing to be the lone person at the bar. At 23 and no man, for now, was a smidge uncomfortable.

So why were you holding her hand?

Is that the way we stand?

Were you lying all the time?

Was it just a game to you...

While scanning the room, you saw her, sitting there with her computer propped up and sporting a shorter hairstyle. A jolt surged through you, you'd seen enough of her today, and you swiveled your head back forward. Another bad move, there he was. The blonde shaggy curls bedazzled you when he strolled in. Art Donaldson walked through the room and the world stopped turning.

Art walked into the bar in search of something. He just didn't know what. For the past few weeks since the Atlanta Open, he'd been on edge; for what he didn't really know. The looming task of the US Open had been teasing him for years, but he was young. He had time to play and win it, this year might just be his year. Though that's what he told himself. The US Open was what he was worried about. Yes, nothing more, nothing less, and absolutely not about certain brunettes.

Art made eye contact with you for a split second. A look flashed across both of your faces, both with varying feelings. Art's face showed an emotion of enchantment, like seeing a rare jewel. You looked like you swallowed sour milk. You shifted your gaze away from him and back to your drink. The alcohol stung your nose.

But I'm in so deep

You know I'm such a fool for you

You got me wrapped around your finger...

Do you have to let it linger?

A shiver strained through you, wondering if the universe was truly trying to get you to buy 30 mg of fentanyl and a bottle of vodka. Art you were used to, both of you were established and young tennis players, it was foretold the two of you would cross paths after that day. Every time it did happen there were formalities exchanged between you two, and then you'd take 4 shots of the choice of alcohol that night and cry.

Art peeked back at you once more before back on his path to Tashi. She was perfect, he had known that fact since the day he met her. Shoved on the pedestal, his fiance typed stormily at her computer, eyebrows drawn together in a scowl.

A smile grazed his face, "Hey," He sat down across from her. Tashi barely acknowledged him with a nod. Art sighed and tapped on the rim of her computer, "Hey Tashi..."

Tashi exhaled and lips thinned, "Hi, what's up?" She curtly replied, "I'm working right now on our deal with Nike," Art's confidence slightly buckled under her glare and apparent annoyance with him.

"Oh, well, nothing..." He trailed off with his smile being replaced with a slight pout, unfortunately for Art, this irritated the coach more. "Well, then get out of my face. You have a game tomorrow," She articulated concisely instructed him with a tone a mother would use, "A game you need to win."

Art straightened up a bit, winning was important, he knew that but he missed Tashi. His paranoia surely wasn't helping her curtness as of recently, but he was still relegating it to US Open nerves. He just needed to win and it'd be fine. "Okay," He agreed, "I'll see you upstairs?" The blonde was met with a quick nod, the sound of typing only emitted.

"I love you."

"I know."

Art left the table with a sullen expression on his features, but you didn't know that. Now you were focused on what type of wood the table was, to avoid thinking about when was the last time the three of you were in the same room. Maybe it's maple.... Your thoughts were soon cut off by a buzz from your phone. The iPhone 4 buzzed madly in your pocket and you pulled it out.

It was some random number you didn't have on your phone.

415-xxx-xxxx

𝘏𝘪, 𝘪𝘵'𝘴 𝘮𝘦 𝘈𝘳𝘵, 𝘸𝘦 𝘯𝘦𝘦𝘥 𝘵𝘰 𝘵𝘢𝘭𝘬.

𝘔𝘦𝘦𝘵 𝘮𝘦 𝘶𝘱 𝘢𝘵 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘪𝘤𝘦 𝘳𝘰𝘰𝘮 𝘯𝘦𝘢𝘳 𝘵𝘩𝘦 3𝘳𝘥 𝘧𝘭𝘰𝘰𝘳.

𝘗𝘭𝘦𝘢𝘴𝘦.

𝘖𝘳 𝘪𝘧 𝘯𝘰𝘵 𝘵𝘩𝘢𝘵'𝘴 𝘵𝘰𝘵𝘢𝘭𝘭𝘺 𝘧𝘪𝘯𝘦.

𝘠𝘰𝘶 𝘤𝘢𝘯 𝘵𝘰𝘵𝘢𝘭𝘭𝘺 𝘧𝘰𝘳𝘨𝘦𝘵 𝘢𝘣𝘰𝘶𝘵 𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘴, 𝘴𝘰𝘳𝘳𝘺.

A miniature smile begged to come onto your features, even texting you could hear the way he'd talk with his comforting, careful diction. But then the meaning of the message settled deep inside you. He wanted to meet you up? Why? Confusion replaced the thick nostalgia as the cogs in your head started to work. It confused you, but you were intrigued. Plus, what was the worst that could happen?

212-xxx-xxxx

𝘰𝘬𝘢𝘺, 𝘪'𝘭𝘭 𝘴𝘦𝘦 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘪𝘯 𝘧𝘪𝘧𝘵𝘦𝘦𝘯

¸¸♫·¯·♪¸♩·¯·♬¸¸¸¸♬·

Idily standing in the dingy ice room, you'd start contemplating your life choices. Specifically, the ones that led you to this moment. Why did you approve of this? Why did you go to that fucking bar? You're not even supposed to drink the day before a game. Oh, that's right, you remembered, Patrick Zweig.

♬☆♬☆♬☆

Earlier that day...

The cooling feeling of the concrete against your back felt like pertinent compensation after a day of sprinting around in the sun. You'd finally made it to the semi-finals after dominating through the bracket, some you'd played against during earlier tournaments, others were just painless to beat and move on to the following one. Nonetheless, the girl you'd just played had given you a run for your money. Not because she was good, but because you were distracted.

Tashi Duncan, coach of the FAMOUS Art Donaldson, observed your match. You'd noticed her when perusing the stands after the first game when you were looking for your friend who had come to cheer you on. Seeing her was the biggest mistake of your game, serve after serve it'd either be out or barely touched the net. It was utterly embarrassing and you'd lost the second game by 15 love. When it was the break you'd skimmed only to find her gone.

It pissed you off. Who the fuck does she think she is? You clenched your water bottle angrily, your knuckles shy of a shade lighter than normal skin tone. The spite of Tashi leaving your game (or so you thought) had lit that flame that you doused years ago. The flame of insecurity produced by Tashi Duncan.

You were relentless against the girl, hitting the ball with your full strength each and every time. An intense volley had occurred in the middle of the game, so intense that your opponent fell face forward in an attempt to catch the shot (she did not). The stadium was silent other than the loud sounds of your grunts and anger. It was hotter than the concrete you played on but just as hard. It pissed you off so much that when you won, instead of your normal self-indulgent bow, you smashed your racquet to the floor and a roar. The crowd scarfed it down, hailing you as a passionate and beautiful player, tenacious against competition.

In all honesty, you just wanted to go home and cry, but you were hustled off the court to where you are now. Stranded in the hallway and lying in your muddled emotions. It was now the men's bracket, but you didn't plan on watching anyone. Particularly Donaldson. Yet, trying to make it out of the vacant hallway, a familiar face entered your vision.

"There's the golden girl!" No words in a dictionary could express the face you made at that moment.

"Oh my..." You muttered under your breath, turning around to see Patrick Zwieg, in all of his sleazy glory. "What in the ever-loving fuck are you doing here Patrick?"

Patrick laughed with faux hurt, "Aw, aren't you just a ball of sunshine!" He tried to get closer to you but you edged back. He gauged your expression and sighed, "And here I thought you'd be happy to see me..."

You scoffed in disgust, "Christ Patrick, seeing you is like seeing a dog with cancer, it should be put down already." The brunette's lips pulled into a smirk, he crossed his arms and gave an irksome look.

"Well, I'm not a dog," He corrected, "I'm a cat and we got 9 lives." An exasperated sigh left your lips, your eyes meeting his with a tiredness. After the mind-fuck of seeing Tashi, you had no bandwidth for Patrick's bitchiness.

"I don't fucking care, Patrick," You hissed, finally starting back on your walk. Patrick started to slightly slip from his confidence, he hadn't expected this. He usually was able to keep you around for a good banter but you'd genuinely just stopped it this time. To keep you from going he snatched your forearm, keeping you from going any further.

Your glare deepened, "Let me go!" He didn't budge and kept you in place, although you started struggling to try and escape his strong grasp.

Patrick spoke your name calmly, "I just want to talk..." He sounded like he was talking to a feral cat. Grunting and now starting to whine, you struggled in an attempt to get away from him and this conversation. "About what? How you fucked over my best-" You stopped yourself, the word 'friend' died on the tip of your tongue. You two weren't friends, you hadn't been for years. Patrick caught this moment of vulnerability and used this.

"Friend? Please, she left you once you got better," He goaded with a sinister grin, "She couldn't stand that you could play and she couldn't."

The struggle became relentless as you started to shout for 'help' but it was useless. You were isolated. The best you'd gotten was dragging Patrick an inch or two across the floor, no escape was foreseen. A thin line formed on your lips as you glared.

"Shut up Patrick, don't fucking project your bullshit with Art on me,' You spat venomously, "He won, you're fucking losing, so what?"

Patrick chuckled drily, "Won what? The match? In case you forgot I won that-"

"NO!" You cut him off with a shout, "God no Patrick, he won at life. He's getting married to the girl you, and only you Patrick, lost because you're a dipshit." Face contorted into one of pure hatred for the man in front of you, and his hold finally slackened for you to draw your arm back.

Patrick rolled his eyes, "Newsflash, I slept with the girl I lost like.." He stopped speaking to count on his fingers, "Three weeks ago!" A triumphant and smug smirk graced his features.

"Great, so you can add home-wrecker to your tennis accolades?" You raised a brow and scoffed again, "You astonish me Zweig, you really do."

Patrick's grin didn't budge, "I aim to please," He did feel quite pleased with himself, and was even more pleased because he confidently believed you were jealous. Jealous that Tashi Duncan slept with him again and you didn't. He was sorely mistaken.

A heavy breath was taken in and you became focused. You knew exactly what you wanted to say to him, "Patrick, you may've fucking one that on match, let's say a battle." You began harshly, "But you didn't win the war, Art did."

Coming closer to Patrick to look him square in the eye, "Art is going to marry Tashi, he won. He will continue to win and be remembered." Patrick clenched his fists to try and calm himself, your words cutting in like serrated blades, "Who will you be Patrick?"

The question echoed throughout Patrick's mind, but you didn't waste time on his reply. Quickly, you stormed away after and resolved that the finest thing to do was to drink this moment away.

♬☆♬☆

A disgusted exclamation softly left your lips as you remembered that instant from today. Patrick always knew how to rile you up, to push your buttons until they'd break. At this point, you thought he enjoyed pissing you off. However, your internal monologuing was cut off by approaching footsteps. Darting up from the checkered carpeted floor, the blonde approached.

Art felt his palms begin to sweat when he saw your languid figure up against the vending machine. You looked so effortlessly beautiful to him, even when looking like you wanted to kill him. He sauntered into the small corridor and shut the door behind him.

Then, he pivoted around to face you. A hush swallowed both of you. It had been the first time you two were alone in around 3 years, at least. Art looked nervous meanwhile you looked disinterested.

"So?" You asked expectantly, "What did you need to talk about?" Art uncoiled and bit his lip. What did he want to talk about again..?

"Oh uhm.." He stuttered, "Hi, so..." Art desperately combed his mind for an answer, "I just saw you and I..." He coughed awkwardly and shifted his weight, "I just wanted to know how you were."

You took a deep breath and then let out a sigh, "Great, so you wanted to waste my time?" Art visibly flinched at your response and his lips twitched in apprehension.

"No, I just missed you," He asserted quickly, trying to meet your tone. Art's deep blue eyes met your own and something tugged at your heartstrings. "We both missed you."

"We?" A wiry laugh echoed in the room, "I don't think Tashi misses me, Arthur, but a cute way of guilt-tripping me." You cooed mockingly with a smirk. A sour expression fell across Art's countenance at the use of his full government name.

Sighing, he leaned against the wall and; after a beat spoke, "We watched your name today," Art stared at you intensely, "You were good, but what fucked you up during the second game?"

You clenched your fists, annoyed that he had been there too. "I don't know, it's called none-ya."

"What's none-ya?" He asked, confused by your retort.

"None of ya fucking business, Donaldson," You shot, "We aren't friends, we don't have tea parties and talk about fucking tennis."

"Well," Art started calmly, holding himself together, "Why don't we talk about anything but tennis?" You smiled fakly at his offer and stepped toward him, the height difference not really being too big, close enough to meet eye to eye.

"Then why the hell are we talking, Art, if we're not talking tennis?"

Art was silenced by your reply and stared down at the floor. He understood why you were acting the way you were, you were hurt. Aching. He would be too if he were in your shoes. The boy knew it wasn't him that should be talking to you. If anything would be solved between you and him, it'd first have to be solved between you and his fiance.

So, he looked back up at you, "I don't know why are we still talking?" The way Art said your name triggered some deep-buried emotions you had killed many years ago along with your insecurities. It was the seductive, whiny nature of Art Donaldson that kept you awake during the hard, lonely nights and right now it was your reality.

The space between you two was barely existent, lips almost touching... Your phone buzzed. The moment was ruined instantly and you quickly plucked out your phone. It was your coach, texting you verbatim to 'GO THE FUCK TO SLEEP, NOW!' with five angry emojis.

Art's eyes searched your movements as you read the message. He was so intent on solving or fixing things with you tonight that he hadn't acknowledged that other outside forces could interfere. When he saw you play today and then back at the bar? It fell into place for him, he just had to have you again. He had to. He deserved it right?

You shoved Art aside and opened the door, focused on now going to sleep and preparing for your game tomorrow. Simply put, you didn't have time for stupid boys like Art Donaldson who wanted to play tennis with two balls. It was ineffective.

But, just as you were down the hallway he shouted, "Tashi misses you!" You ignored him, "She told me to tell you."

"Tell her," Turning around so he could directly hear you, "Tell her that she can go fuck herself, and," You had stopped speaking, storming off to right in front of the man, "Go fuck yourself too." It was easy to snatch the collar of his old grey hoodie and capture him in a kiss.

The clash of lips was a brutish one, Art being caught off guard and you kissing forcefully as if he was the last thing on earth. His hands traveled to your jaw and let you take control of the kiss.

It was a longer one, almost juvenile, letting yourself clash teeth or slightly push up against him. You finally pulled away, his bottom lip sliding through your teeth slowly, keeping eye contact while it bounced back in place.

The both of you were flushed a deep crimson, now both frustrated and sexually frustrated you let out an exclamation of anger and strode furiously down the hall, into the stairway.

There left was Art, his attempts hopeless and now he was alone. His hand shakily rose to his lips where you had just been. Fingers gently grazing his lip before letting out a shaky sigh. It'd been forever since he'd been caught so off-guard, it shook him inside. You always did, pushing his own buttons instead of yours. Art was always susceptible to your touch and words.

Yet, frowned when he thought of the way you had spoken to him tonight. You had become so jaded, so much more.. mean. It reminded him of how Tashi used to talk back at Stanford. Before the injury. How confident she was, somehow more than now, and how she had the world at the tips of her fingers. Art silently wished he'd handled that day differently than he did. But, deep down, he knew he didn't. Art got what he wanted at the end of the day, wasn't that beautiful?

ᴇɴᴅ ᴏꜰ ᴘᴀʀᴛ 2

Hi! I really hope you guys liked this chapter, I really wanted to explore the character dynamics more and just flesh out the relationships. It'll get spicy, trusttt!

Please like or comment!! I would love to hear what y'all think or want for the plot, you guys were literally so, so nice in the last part!

Thank you for reading <3

🇹🇦🇬🇱🇮🇸🇹:

@jackierose902109

@bloodyrevengedbullets

@ssababe

@skylerwhitwyo

#art donaldson #art donaldson x reader #tashi duncan x reader #tashi duncan #patrick zweig x reader #challengers 2024 #challengers x reader #art donaldson smut #tashi donaldson #x reader #fem reader #patrick zweig #challengers #love square #challengers fanfic

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shegetsburned · 2 days

Text

❝ a man of honor ❞ w. kento nanami 𝜗𝜚.

.nsfw.

• — dearest reader. this author finds herself bearing the most curious of news, for it isn’t without surprise that the viscount nanami has caused ruckus amongst the young ladies of the ton, upon his arrival. gracing us with his presence, he has not yet announced himself eligible for this social season and, i believe, does not intend to do so. but doesn’t love find itself in the most peculiar of places when one least expects it? • — a/n. let’s just say that bridgerton has, yet again, a hold on me, also, i am in no way an historian nor a perfect writer but i do hope y’all can enjoy this different little piece.

˗ˏˋʚ viscount!nanami who, despite himself, had found the need to return to london for a matter of affair and is set on departing as unbothered by the social season as he was when he first arrived.

˗ˏˋʚ viscount!nanami who has never taken his social standing lightly and knows he’ll be the object of many desires considering his status as a seven and twenty years old unmarried man. described as a man of honour, suited for the finest lady, but buried in his work and duties.

˗ˏˋʚ viscount!nanami who attends most balls, making quick appearances here and there and avoiding hungry mamas at all costs, partially hiding in the gardens or engaging in business conversations with other suitors, always eager to return to his chamber. that was until he found the most beautiful excuse to not participate in any courting competition and declare himself ineligible to the ton. you.

˗ˏˋʚ viscount!nanami who had found you hiding in the very same place he was, that night. a very debutante, who didn’t feel yet a need to marry. you had approached him in need of advice, not in need of a husband. you knew who he was but had no intention nor expectation for any kind of courteous exchange. you just wanted to know how he was successfully avoiding many of his greatest admirers without breaking a sweat.

˗ˏˋʚ viscount!nanami who did not give much thought to the both of you talking at first, it was easy and the conversation never felt forced. you did feel like a breath of fresh air. you had attracted attention amongst the men of ton quite easily with your gorgeous smile and attentive gaze, which kento had immediately noticed but when you felt like he was really listening to the words you uttered, you became quite acquainted to the viscount’s presence.

˗ˏˋʚ viscount!nanami whom you had invited for dinner with your family and was confirmed to be quite the gentleman everyone said he was. well, at least, that’s how he appeared before your family. from across the table, he couldn’t keep his eyes off of you. the way you parted your lips to eat or placed your mouth so carefully around the gorgeous glass to drink hypnotized him. your warm smile and laughter were music to his ears, therefore most of his attention was directed towards you.

˗ˏˋʚ viscount!nanami whose thoughts becomes dreams in a matter of weeks. your body draws itself in his head. every time you graze his shoulder with yours, his heart flutters. he’s almost ashamed to admit that he’d rather sleep than awaken alone in his bed when he’s been having the most indecent dreams about the gorgeous debutante he’s unable to have. your words resonate in his sleep until they become pleads and moans he wishes to hear.

˗ˏˋʚ viscount!nanami who despite his title, his honor and even his words, became aware of the fact that he wanted much more than being friends with you. although he didn’t want to burden you with his occupied life, he couldn’t help but boil when one curious man came to your encounter, asking for a dance. you weren’t a fool and quickly noticed the viscount’s name written all over your dancing card moments later. you did wonder how it would look to the eyes of everyone else, but he surely didn’t care.

˗ˏˋʚ viscount!nanami who has privatized your company not only by dancing with you all night during the ball but also by inviting you to his estate in london. it wasn’t long before you realized how occupied he was but also how he tried his best to escape your chaperone and have you all to himself in his bureau.

˗ˏˋʚ viscount!nanami who loathes the thought of not having you close to him. he had offered no ring nor promises, yet here he was, teaching everything your mama hadn’t. taking away every ounce of purity you once displayed to every other eligible suitor with his careful hands. you could still feel his lips along your neck and his hold around your waist hours after the act.

˗ˏˋʚ viscount!nanami who truly believes he is a man of honour, even with your legs parted for his hand to explore your most sensitive places with your naked back against the walls of the library of his estate. the sound you make, he wished no other men to hear when it graced his ears, hurrying his movements and developing the most intense of needs. he trailed your back ever so gently to detach and remove your gown with such delicacy it made your whole body shudder.

˗ˏˋʚ viscount!nanami who, despite engaging in such shameful activities, roams around you, just as before. having eyes only for you and ignoring every little distraction that came his way. the rest of the ton surely did wonder how the most anticipated pairing of the season will officially come to be. many questions lingers in one’s mind when two individuals such as yourselves spend so much time together. had he purposely made you wait to attract the other suitors’ attention and find you as desirable as he did? had he already compromised your integrity and claimed you for himself in secret? he did fancy himself the gentleman, so why hadn’t the big question been asked already?

surely, you did know it wouldn’t be the last time you’d be able to call him "my lord" and it certainly wouldn’t be the last time he’d be able to look at you in the eyes and call you his lady.

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pinkflower2003 · 3 days

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You are actually so talented. I’m addicted to reading your stuff. If you what to write a slightly more angsty one maybe could be a pt.2 to one of the pregnancy ones that Y/N has the baby and then starts struggling with postnatal anxiety and just can’t keep her eyes of the baby so driver comforts her and helps her even though she’s being a stubborn first time mum 😅

Baby Blues

Charles Leclerc x Reader

a/n: thank you so much that is the sweetest thing ever, you guys literally make me wanna cry omg🥹 i hope this is okay! thank you so much for your submission<3

The soft glow of the afternoon sun filtered through the curtains, casting a warm light on the nursery. You sat in the rocking chair, cradling your newborn daughter in your arms. The room was quiet, save for the gentle creaking of the chair and the occasional coo from the baby. Despite the serenity, a storm of anxiety churned within you.

As a first-time mother, the overwhelming love you felt for your daughter was matched by an equally overwhelming sense of fear. What if something went wrong? What if you weren’t enough? You couldn’t keep your eyes off her, afraid that if you looked away for even a second, something terrible might happen.

Charles Leclerc, your partner and the love of your life, had been nothing but supportive since the birth. But as days turned into weeks, he noticed the change in you. The way you barely slept, constantly checking on the baby, the way your hands trembled whenever you weren’t holding her.

One afternoon, Charles found you in the nursery again, your eyes fixed on the sleeping baby. He approached quietly, his heart aching at the sight of your exhaustion.

"Y/N," he said softly, kneeling beside you. "You need to rest."

You shook your head, your voice barely above a whisper. "I can’t, Charles. What if something happens?"

He reached out, gently placing a hand on your shoulder. "Nothing will happen. She’s safe. You need to take care of yourself too."

Tears welled up in your eyes as you looked at him, the worry and fear evident in your expression. "I’m scared, Charles. What if I’m not doing this right?"

Charles cupped your face in his hands, his gaze steady and reassuring. "You’re doing an amazing job. You’re the best mother our daughter could ever have. But you don’t have to do this alone. Let me help you."

You wanted to believe him, but the anxiety was a relentless force. "I just…I can’t stop thinking about all the things that could go wrong."

He pulled you into a gentle embrace, his touch soothing. "I know it’s hard. But we’re in this together."

Charles took the baby from your arms, cradling her with practiced ease. "Why don’t you lie down for a bit? I’ll watch her."

You hesitated, your eyes lingering on your daughter. "What if she needs me?"

"I’ll be right here," Charles assured you. "And if she needs anything, I’ll wake you up. I promise."

Reluctantly, you agreed, allowing Charles to guide you to the bedroom. As you lay down, he sat beside you, holding your hand. "Close your eyes, amour. Just rest for a little while."

For the first time in days, you allowed yourself to relax, Charles’s presence a comforting anchor. Gradually, exhaustion took over, and you drifted into a restless sleep.

When you awoke, the room was dim, and you could hear the soft murmur of Charles’s voice from the nursery. You got up quietly and peeked through the door. Charles was sitting in the rocking chair, the baby cradled against his chest as he hummed a gentle tune.

He looked up and saw you, a tender smile spreading across his face. "Hey, you’re awake. How do you feel?"

You walked in, feeling a bit more rested but still anxious. "Better, I think."

Charles stood up, walking over to you with the baby. "She’s been fine. You’ve been fine. And you will be fine. But you need to take it one day at a time."

Tears filled your eyes again, but this time they were tears of gratitude. "Thank you, Charles. I don’t know what I’d do without you."

He kissed your forehead, his touch filled with love and reassurance. "You’ll never have to find out. We’re a team, remember? We’ll get through this together."

From that moment, things started to change. It wasn’t easy, and there were still days when the anxiety threatened to overwhelm you. But with Charles by your side, you found the strength to face it. He was there for the late-night feedings, the endless diaper changes, and the moments when you felt like you couldn’t go on.

And slowly, you began to trust in yourself as a mother. You started to believe that you were enough, that you could keep your daughter safe and happy. And through it all, Charles was your rock, your constant source of comfort and support.

#formula one imagine #f1 imagine #formula one x reader #f1 x reader #formula 1 #charles leclerc x reader #charles leclerc imagine #charles leclerc #baby imagine

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doumadono · 2 days

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[Sinful Sunday] I loved how you write Wriothesley, so I was wondering if you could write something with him and the reader spending time together after hours?

Warnings: smut with plot, rough smut, pussy fingering, cunnilingus, semi-public, creampie, fem!reader, established relationship, possessive Wrio, Neuvilette being Neuvilette ^^

A/N: this request got the most votes during the second Sinful Sunday poll I held. Thank you to everyone who voted!

SINFUL SUNDAY GENSHIN IMPACT

You had met Wriothesley on a day like any other. The fortress was bustling with activity, guards patrolling, prisoners shuffling through their routines, and you, an administrator tasked with managing the endless paperwork that came with overseeing such a complex institution. Wriothesley, the Duke of Meropide, had always been a figure of authority and mystery, his presence commanding respect and admiration. His icy demeanor was formidable, yet there was a warmth that lurked beneath the surface, a warmth you had been fortunate enough to uncover.

It had started innocently enough.

The fortress was not a place for personal connections, after all. But there was something about the way his eyes lingered on you, the way your breath caught whenever he was near.

Late nights in the office, poring over documents and case files, had led to shared cups of tea and quiet conversations. Wriothesley’s wit and intelligence had drawn you in, and before long, the lines between professional and personal had begun to blur. Tall, imposing, with piercing blue eyes and a demeanor as cold as the Cryo Vision he wielded, Wriothesley was a figure of both admiration and intimidation. Many women in the fortress — and beyond — would have given anything for a chance to be close to him, to break through the icy exterior and find the man beneath.

It was during one such evening, months ago, that the tension had finally snapped.

You had been in the middle of reviewing a particularly convoluted case file when Wriothesley appeared in your office doorway.

He stood there, his presence commanding even in the subdued light, his eyes locking onto yours with an intensity that made your heart skip a beat. "Working late again?" he asked, his voice a deep, resonant rumble that sent shivers down your spine.

You nodded, unable to tear your eyes away from him. "There's just so much to do. These new cases —"

"Can wait," he interrupted, stepping into the room. "You've been pushing yourself too hard lately."

He moved closer, his gaze never wavering, and you felt a flutter of nervous anticipation. Wriothesley had always been distant, maintaining a strict professionalism that left little room for personal interaction. Yet tonight, there was something different in his eyes, something that hinted at a deeper, more complex emotion. "You should take a break," he repeated, his voice softer now, almost gentle.

You managed a small smile, though your pulse quickened at his proximity. "Easier said than done."

He was close enough now that you could feel the heat radiating from his body, the subtle scent of his cologne wrapping around you. The room seemed to shrink, the air thick with unspoken tension.

"Wriothesley," you began, unsure of what you were about to say, but he silenced you with a look.

"Do you ever stop to think about yourself?" he asked, his voice low and intense. "You're always taking care of everyone else, always working. When was the last time you did something for you?"

His words struck a chord, and you realized how little you had allowed yourself to relax, to simply be. You opened your mouth to respond, but the words died in your throat as he reached out, his rough hand cupping your cheek. "You deserve more," he whispered, his thumb brushing gently over your skin.

The touch was electric.

Without thinking, you leaned into his touch, your eyes fluttering closed.

His hand slid to the back of your neck, pulling you closer until your lips met in a kiss that was both unexpected and utterly consuming. It was a kiss filled with months of pent-up desire, a kiss that spoke of all the things you had left unsaid.

He lifted you effortlessly, setting you on the edge of your desk, his body pressing against yours. The kiss deepened, growing more urgent, more desperate. His hands roamed over your body, exploring, claiming, as if he couldn't get enough of you.

"Wriothesley," you gasped when he finally broke the kiss, his lips trailing down the column of your neck, leaving a trail of burning kisses in their wake.

"Tell me to stop," he murmured against your skin, his breath hot and teasing. "Tell me you don't want this."

But you couldn't. You didn't want him to stop. You wanted more — needed more. Your fingers tangled in his dark hair, pulling him closer, your body arching against his in a silent plea.

"Don't stop," you whispered, your voice trembling with need. "Please, don’t stop."

And this is how the affair began.

The moon hung high over the vast expanse of Fontaine, casting its silvery light over the pristine streets and ancient structures of the city.

The dim, ethereal glow of the moonlight filtered through the frost-laden windows of the Fortress of Meropide, casting long shadows that danced and shifted across the cold stone floors. The fortress, cold and imposing by day, seemed almost intimate under the moon’s silver glow.

The evening was quiet, save for the occasional distant clanking of chains or the muffled murmurs of guards on patrol. Deep within the labyrinthine corridors of the Meropide Fortress, the air was thick with an intensity that was palpable, even in the dead of night. This fortress, both a prison and a sanctuary, hummed with the quiet activities of its inhabitants. Among them, two souls found solace in the shadows, bound by a secret that thrummed like a heartbeat.

It wasn’t an unusual hour for some people to be working, but then again, the fortress itself was an unusual place.

Wriothesley sat at his desk, the flickering light of the lantern illuminating his rugged features. His eyes, sharp and intense, scanned over the documents spread out before him. The Duke of Meropide was a man of duty and resolve, his dedication to maintaining order within the prison unyielding. Yet tonight, his thoughts were not solely on the responsibilities that weighed heavily on his shoulders.

You sat across the room, engrossed in your own work.

The reason for the extended hours was legitimate enough — a particularly troublesome inmate required constant monitoring, and both of you had taken it upon yourselves to ensure the situation remained under control. No one questioned why you, an administrator with a keen eye for detail, would stay late into the night. And no one questioned why Wriothesley himself would remain long after most had retired to their quarters.

It had been months since the two of you first met.

As the clock ticked past midnight, you pushed back from your desk and stretched, the movement drawing Wriothesley's attention. He leaned back in his chair, his gaze dark and smoldering as it roamed over you. "Tired?" he asked, his voice oh so low.

"A little," you admitted, getting up from your desk, and crossing the room to stand before him. "But I don't mind. It's nice to have some quiet time to get things done."

“Need a break?” Wriothesley asked, his voice nothing but a soft rumble.

You nodded, your heart pounding in your chest. “I think we both do.”

With a swift movement, his hand reached out, capturing your wrist and pulling you gently towards him, and onto his lap, his arms encircling your waist. The heat of his body against yours was intoxicating, and you couldn’t suppress the shiver of anticipation that ran through you. Wriothesley’s hands roamed over your back, his touch firm and possessive. He tilted your chin up, his eyes locking onto yours with an intensity that made your breath hitch.

“I’ve been wanting to do this all night,” he murmured, his voice husky with desire.

"We shouldn't..." you began, but your words trailed off as his lips found the sensitive spot on your neck, pressing a kiss that made you melt against him.

"We should," he countered, his voice a husky whisper against your skin. “I can’t help it. I’ve missed you, Y/N.”

His hands roamed over your body, deftly unfastening the buttons of your crisp white shirt. With a practiced touch, he pushed the fabric off your shoulders, revealing your soft skin to his hungry eyes. You could feel the intensity of his gaze, the way his eyes filled with desire as he cupped your breasts, still cradled in your lacy white bra, fondling them with his rough, impatient hands.

"I missed you too," you chuckled softly, your fingers weaving through his dark locks as you drew him nearer. "But we've spent the whole day together already," you pointed out.

A wry grin crept across his lips. "True, but I couldn't touch you the way I wanted."

The kiss that followed was anything but gentle. It was a desperate, hungry clash of lips and tongues, a collision of need and longing that had been building for hours.

You rose from his lap, hoisting the hems of your skirt up to provide yourself with more comfortable movements. Then, slowly, deliberately, you straddled his lap, your movements purposeful as you seated yourself comfortably. You ground your clothed pussy against the growing bulge in his pants.

"Fuuuuck," he growled, his voice low and guttural. His hands slid further under your skirt, finding the bare skin of your thighs and gripping them possessively.

With a deft movement, he lifted you onto the desk, the documents scattering to the floor, forgotten in the heat of the moment. His mouth never left yours as he positioned himself between your legs, dry humping against your pussy, his hands pulling you closer, anchoring you to him as his mouth trailed open mouthed kisses up your exposed neck.

You could feel his dick hardening within his dark gray pants, hard and insistent against you. "Wrio," you gasped, your head falling back as his lips trailed down your neck, his teeth grazing your skin.

He silenced you with another kiss, his mouth trailing down your neck soon after, leaving a trail of burning kisses in its wake. His hands found the clasp of your bra, deftly undoing it and slipping the stripes down your shoulders, his touch sending shivers down your spine.

"Someone might hear..."

"Let them," he growled, his voice a mixture of command and need. "I don't fucking care."

His hands were everywhere, caressing, teasing, igniting fires wherever they touched. You arched against him, your body aching for more, for everything.

Wriothesley leaned in, his eager mouth enveloping one of your hardened nipples, drawing it into the heat of his mouth.

The sensation made you instinctively arch your back, a loud moan escaping your lips. “Oh, for the glory of Hydro Archon! Don’t stop, don’t stop,” you begged.

His tongue flicked around your hardened bud, sending jolts of pleasure through your body as he sucked on it hungrily. Meanwhile, his free hand fondled your other breast, teasing and caressing it with skilled precision. At the same time, his other hand, unoccupied but not idle, pushed against your left knee, urging you to part your legs wider for him.

You complied eagerly, granting him the access he craved.

As you spread your legs wider, he pressed the heel of his rough hand against your clothed pussy, rubbing you through your panties. The Duke pressed the heel of his rough hand against your clothed pussy, rubbing you through your panties. To his delight, he discovered a damp spot forming in the middle of the fabric, a clear indication of your heightened arousal. “Look at you, little one,” he mused, "You're already so wet for me. Mmmm, I can already smell your sweet scent. Look at what you're doing to me, Y/N," he exclaimed, gesturing toward his tented pants as he released your nipple from his mouth with a loud pop sound.

Finally, Wriothesley took a step back, lowering himself to kneel on the cool marble floor between your legs. His hands gripped your thighs, spreading them wider as he settled himself between them, his broad shoulders keeping your legs firmly in place, preventing them from closing. He pushed the material of your panties aside, exposing your pretty pussy to his hungry eyes, your folds glistening with arousal. Leaning in, he inhaled your scent deeply, like a predator savoring its prey, and let out a low growl. "Mmmmm, fuuuuck, that's what I've been craving all day long."

With a slow, deliberate motion, he leaned in and pressed his mouth against your glistening folds. His tongue darted out, and Wriothesley began with a teasing flick of his tongue, running it lightly along your folds, just enough to make you shiver with anticipation. He lingered at your entrance, tracing slow, deliberate circles around it with the tip of his tongue, savoring the way your body responded to his touch. His hands gripped your thighs, holding you in place as he delved deeper, his tongue pressing against your clit in a firm, tantalizing stroke.

He alternated between long, languid licks and quick, teasing flicks, his mouth exploring every inch of your cunny with a hunger that left you breathless. He sucked gently on your clit, rolling it between his lips, then released it with a soft pop, only to dive back in, his tongue moving with an expert precision that had you writhing beneath him.

As his mouth worked its magic, his fingers joined in the fray, sliding one, then two digits inside you, curling them just right to hit that sweet spot that made stars burst behind your closed eyelids. He pumped his fingers in and out, matching the rhythm of his tongue, his movements growing more urgent as he felt you tightening around him.

"You taste so good," he murmured between licks, his voice thick with desire. "I could do this all night."

He sucked harder on your clit, his tongue lapping at you with increasing fervor. He nipped at your folds, the slight edge of pain only heightening your pleasure, making you gasp and arch your back as you lay your upper body flat on his desk. His growls of satisfaction sent vibrations through your core, adding to the mounting pleasure building inside you.

Your hands clung to him, fingers tangling in his hair as you rode the waves of sensation. He seemed to know exactly what you needed, adjusting his pace and pressure, his tongue darting and swirling with a skill that left you trembling.

Wriothesley reveled in the power he had over you, the way your body responded so eagerly to his touch.

He sucked your clit into his mouth, his tongue swirling around the sensitive nub as he applied just the right amount of pressure.

You moaned loudly, your fingers tangling in his hair, pulling him closer, urging him to continue as you slowly ground your pussy against his face, even though your legs were shaking at the moment as pleasure became unbearable.

His hands roamed up your body, one of them moving up your body to knead your breast while the other stayed firm on your thigh, keeping you spread open for him. He moved his tongue lower, dipping it into your entrance, tasting you deeply before returning to your clit. “My mother taught me to always finish my goddamn food, so forgive me, doll, but respectfully I don’t give a shit if your legs are shaking. And don’t try to crawl away.”

You could feel the tension building within you, the coil tightening with every flick of his tongue, every suck, every nip, every thrust of his fingers.

Wriothesley's fingers moved with relentless intensity, plunging in and out of your drenched pussy, each thrust creating wet, lewd sounds that echoed throughout the room. His mouth was equally fervent, his tongue lapping at your folds, his hums of satisfaction blending with the obscene noises. The combination of his skilled fingers and eager tongue drove you wild.

When you finally came, it was with a cry of his name, your body trembling as the wave of pleasure crashed over you.

He didn't stop, his tongue continuing its relentless assault, drawing out your orgasm until you were left breathless and spent. Only then he looked up at you after, his lips glistening with your arousal, a satisfied smirk on his face. "That's my good, good girl," he praised.

Finally, after he had drunk in every last drop of your cum, Wriothesley moved up, his mouth leaving your throbbing core.

He stood and began unbuttoning his dark shirt, revealing the hard lines of his muscular chest and well-defined abs. His fingers moved deftly to his leather belt, unbuckling it and then opening his fly with deliberate slowness. He pushed his uniform pants low enough to free his rock-hard cock, which twitched at the sight of your messy, disheveled state laid out before him.

Taking hold of his cock, he stroked it slowly a few times, making sure to coat it with your wetness that was previously coating his fingers, spreading the slickness from the tip to the base of his throbbing member.

The sight of it only made you more desperate for him.

"Look at you," he murmured, his voice a rough whisper filled with desire. "So ready for me." He positioned himself between your legs, his eyes dark with desire.

He pulled you by your legs, positioning you at the edge of the desk, your legs wrapped tightly around his waist. His hands gripped your hips, his touch firm and possessive as he lined himself with you.

You could feel the hard head of his cock, sticky with precum, pressing against your entrance, a promise of what was to come.

With one swift, powerful motion, he entered you, filling you completely. The sensation was overwhelming, a mix of pleasure and pain that left you gasping for breath. He set a steady, intense rhythm, his hips driving into you with a force that made your whole body shudder.

Wriothesley's grip on your hips was firm, his eyes locked onto yours as he fucked you, the connection between you deep and primal. The wet sounds, the slap of skin against skin, and his low, guttural moans filled the room, a symphony of raw, unrestrained passion. Each thrust brought you closer to the edge, your body responding eagerly to his, the pleasure building until it was almost too much to bear.

"You're mine," he growled, his pace quickening, his thrusts becoming more urgent. "Only mine."

"Yes," you moaned, your fingers digging into his broad shoulders. "Only yours, Wrio!"

He moved faster, his thrusts becoming more urgent, more demanding, driving you to the brink of madness. The tip of his cock kissed your cervix with each of his thrusts.

You cried out his name, your body trembling with the force of your pleasure, your mind lost in a haze of sensation.

“You feel so fucking good,” he murmured, his lips pressing against your ear. “So perfect for me.”

“Wrio,” you gasped, your voice a plea and a promise. You wrapped your arms around his neck, pulling him closer, your bodies moving in perfect harmony.

The world outside ceased to exist; it was just you and him, lost in a moment of pure ecstasy.

He thrust harder, his movements becoming frantic, his need for you overwhelming. “My little cockslut. My personal fucking whore,” he snarled through clenched teeth. A bead of sweat formed on his temple and rolled down his perfectly shaped cheek.

You clung to him, your nails digging into his shoulders as you matched his thrusts, lifting and lowering your hips, moaning like a bitch in heat.

Wriothesley was the first to reach his peak, his thrusts growing more urgent and sloppy as he neared his release. With a deep, guttural growl, he spilled his thick seed deep inside you, the hot flood filling you completely. His body shuddered with the force of his climax, his grip on your hips tightening as he emptied himself into you. “Oh, fuuuuuuck yeah, fuck yeah,” the dark-haired man growled, gently spanking your clit with his hand a few times.

The sensation of his cum filling you and his continuous assault on your pussy pushed you over the edge. You came moments later, your inner walls clenching rhythmically around his dick, massaging his shaft as if trying to milk it dry of every last drop of his precious cum. The intensity of your orgasm made you cry out, your body trembling and your nails digging into his shoulders as waves of pleasure crashed over you. The rhythmic contractions of your pussy around his cock sent aftershocks through both of you, prolonging the ecstasy of the moment.

He held you close, his breath ragged, his body covered in sweat.

For a moment, you stayed like that, his cock still buried in your hot, drenched pussy.

Then, slowly, he pulled away, a grin spreading across his lips as he marveled at how his cum dripped out of you, forming a small puddle on the floor right under his desk. "Perfect," he murmured, brushing a strand of hair from your face. "You’re absolutely fucking perfect. Fuck. I'll never get enough of this," he murmured, running a hand through his messy bangs in an attempt to make himself presentable again.

He wiped his cock with a paper towel he pulled from his desk drawer, then adjusted his trousers and buttoned his shirt, leaving the last three buttons open to cool down himself faster.

Suddenly, you both heard footsteps approaching, growing louder with each step.

Panic set in as you jumped off the desk, hastily helping Wriothesley gather the scattered documents. You quickly began buttoning your shirt, realizing too late that your bra was missing. Glancing at Wriothesley, you saw it in his hands. He gave you a mischievous look and tucked your bra into his pants pocket, flashing you a devilish grin. “You need to work for it.”

"You're unbelievable, you bastard," you whispered, shaking your head as you hurriedly pulled your skirt back into place and adjusted your panties.

Just as you managed to sit back at your desk, there was a brief knock to the door.

Before Wriothesley could respond, the door opened to reveal none other than Neuvillette, the Iudex of Fontaine himself. He gave you a polite nod, which you returned with a slight bow, struggling to maintain a composed expression. Your thoughts were consumed by the cold, damp sensation of your panties, soaked with both your juices and Wriothesley's cum.

"Good evening," Neuvillette said, his voice formal and detached.

Wriothesley, ever the picture of composed authority, straightened up and addressed Neuvillette, his demeanor cool and collected. "What brings you here at this hour?"

Neuvillette's eyes scanned the room before settling on Wriothesley. "I hope I'm not interrupting anything important," he said, his tone as formal as ever.

"Not at all," Wriothesley replied smoothly, straightening up as he slowly improved his shirt, giving you a look. "We were just wrapping up some paperwork."

Neuvillette's gaze lingered on Wriothesley for a moment longer than necessary, a hint of suspicion flickering in his eyes. "I see," he replied, his tone still formal but with a subtle edge to it.

You felt a flush creeping up your neck as you tried to compose yourself, your heart hammering in your chest. You were certain Neuvillette could sense something was off, but to your relief, he didn't comment on your flushed cheeks or the way your breaths came out in uneven puffs.

"Very well," Neuvillette said finally, breaking the tension with a polite smile. "I won't keep you any longer. I brought some documents for you to go through. I trust everything is under control here?"

Wriothesley nodded, his own smile strained. "Of course, everything is in order."

With a final nod, Neuvillette took his leave, the door closing behind him with a soft click.

You let out a breath you hadn't realized you were holding, the tension draining from your body as you exchanged a relieved glance with Wriothesley. "That was close," you murmured, grateful for the near-miss.

Wriothesley chuckled, running a hand through his hair. "Too close for comfort. We'll have to be more careful in the future. Even though I wouldn’t mind having an audience.”

You shook your head in disbelief. This man had some nerves! Then, you returned to your work, knowing that come morning, you would return to your roles, to the pretense of professionalism. But for now, in the quiet sanctuary of his office, you were his, and he was yours, if only for a fleeting, precious moment, away from prying eyes and probing questions.

tags: @crystalwolfblog @shonen-brainrot @mun-in-rain

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d4yl1ghts · 2 days

Note

Hi could I request an Anthony c wife reader fic where they are in a heated argument and Anthony accidentally says he regret marrying reader so she ends up giving him the silent treatment and just ignoring him so he can grovel for her forgiveness

regrets

(mean?) anthony bridgerton x wife, fem!reader

summary: anthony realises the importance of words

warnings: argument

As you trudged down the antique staircase, you couldn’t help but ponder the lack of the presence of your husband recently. He was always locked away in his office and whenever you confronted him, he would always reply with: “I still have more work, Y/N.” After he said that, he would kick you out of his office. You were really missing Anthony currently and you longed for his touch, despite never really enjoying physical touch, you longed for his touch.

And so that is what led you to now, storming into his office, without even knocking. Anthony huffed quietly as he looked up to see you. He held his head in his hands as he stared back down at his pile of paperwork. “What?”, he asked blatantly as he eyed the paper. “Is that all you have to say to me?”, you asked bemusedly. “Yes. You stormed into my office whilst I am working.”, he justified. “Do you only care for your work and business?”, you asked with an upset expression.

“No, it is just so overwhelming sometimes. It is a requirement that I see to all of it as the Viscount.”, he responded as he shuffled in his chair. “Is it not a duty to spend some of your time in the presence of your wife?”, you asked as you focused on the elegant wooden desk, avoiding his intense eyes that often gave away his emotions. “I suppose so. I almost regret marrying.”, he confessed. You simply stared at him. Did he really regret marrying you? Why did he go through all of the effort of making your wedding perfect for you if he didn’t want to get married?

Silently, you forced your feet to carry you back into your bedroom which was fortunately not shared with Anthony. In the past, you would spend your sleepless nights in his room and he would go into yours if he burned for your passion. You slammed the door shut and locked it: to be certain that he would not enter your chambers. You needed to be alone.

It was safe to say that it was yet another sleepless night but he was not there to ease you through it. Amidst the sunlight of the rising sun, you hastily got ready for the day; you requested for your hair to be more simply styled today and your robes less detailed and delicate. Truth be told, you only asked your maids to do your hair gracefully for Anthony, you hated the process and you decided that you would not care about what he’d have to say about your robes: he didn’t need to acknowledge his wife anymore.

You sat at the table in silence whilst you ate breakfast with him opposite you, none of you making eye contact.

You sat on the sofa as you read in silence which felt unusual with out your updates to Anthony and his queries on where you had gotten up to.

You sat in the picturesque garden in silence.

It was not until dinner that Anthony broke the silence. “Y/N.”, he began as you pushed your food away from you like Anthony had you. “I do not know where to begin.”, he continued as he gazed across at you. “When I spoke such words, I did not realise they would be so harmful and impactful.”

You glanced up for a split second and saw the sparkle of sincerity in his eyes before going back to playing with your food. “I know that you will not ever truly forgive me for those unkind words but I hope you will at least know this: I did not mean it like that. In fact, I almost meant the opposite: I feel as though because I am the Viscount I am unable to take care of my wife and spend the needed time with her.”, he stated in one breath. “I almost feel pitiful for my wife: no one should be neglected simply because they are my wife. I just do not know how a woman could love me for I was not made to be a tender husband or a loving father. I was made to be the Viscount. Those are my duties. And so I thought to myself: you deserve so much better and so why should I bother when I cannot give what you require?”, he pleaded with a new sense of vulnerability in his eyes. You knew how hard it was for him to open up and for him to admit to this, you were proud of him.

“Anthony, you are the perfect husband (when you want to be).”, you mentioned teasingly. He let out a teary smile. “And I know that in the future you will be the most loving father to our children. You even admitting to feeling like such proves it.”, you responded as you slowly made your way over to his side of the table.

Once you had reached him, you carefully caressed his jawline as he gazed up at you whilst tears gently rolled down his cheeks. He placed his arms around your neck and pulled you down so he was able to passionately kiss you, conveying his love for you. As he pulled away, he cautiously grabbed your hand and guided you into his room. For the first time in weeks, you slept through the whole night.

#anthony bridgerton #anthony bridgerton x reader #anthony bridgerton x you #anthony bridgerton x female reader #anthony bridgerton imagine #anthony bridgerton one shot #bridgerton #bridgerton x reader #bridgerton imagine #bridgerton x y/n #bridgerton x you #bridgerton x female reader #fem!reader

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quinzzelx · 2 days

Text

Steamy Pages

Azriel x Fem! Rhys Sister! Reader

A series of connected Oneshots. Read Paramour here

Summary: In the House of Wind's library, Azriel catches you reading a steamy novel, leading to a secret and passionate encounter.

Word Count: 4k

Warnings: Smut, 18!+, Oral fem!Receiving, PnV, dirty talk, Not proof-read yet

A/N: Somehow, I always end up writing smut instead of my fluffy or angsty WIP's. But I have so many things that I'm currently working on, which I only want to be perfect & as of right now, I don't feel up to the task :( I hate to keep you guys waiting- but I really have writers' block for some of my stuff right now and all I'm able to do is smut somehow lmao... I also need a name for this series of connected Oneshots. ☆~●~☆~●~☆~●~☆~●~☆~●~☆~●~☆~●~☆~●~☆~●~☆

As you sat in the House of Wind's library, engrossed in a book, a figure appeared in the corner of your eye. Azriel. For the past few weeks, Azriel and you had been falling into and out of each other's beds. Ever since that fateful night at Rita's where the thin line you both had been tiptoeing around was finally crossed after drunkenly stumbling back home. Rhys, your brother, was out that day, Mor had left with someone, and Cassian was at the camps, leaving just the two of you to find your way back. Something was different that night, and one thing led to another. A blush crept onto your cheeks at the mere thought of that heat-filled, steamy night.

Now, you sat in the library reading. Azriel entered silently, watching you curled up on the lounge chair before the hearth, a book in your hand. He had been away for a few days, and seeing you here stirred something deep within him. Fully immersed in your novel, you didn't hear the silent steps of the Shadowsinger as he approached. The characters in your book were finally confessing their love for each other, and as the scene grew steamy, a deeper blush spread across your face, your heart rate picking up.

He stopped beside the chair and leaned down to watch the words you read, his breath brushing your cheek. A low growl escaped him as he read aloud, "My legs trembled as his fingers traced invisible patterns on the inside of my thighs, venturing further up, up, up. I felt his all-consuming presence enveloping me, and as his fingers brushed against my awaiting heat, softly caressing my cunt over the thin fabric of my lacy underwear..."

You flinched, yelping at the sudden intrusion, snapping your head in his direction. Your face heated unbelievably at what was happening. Embarrassed, you tried to snap the book shut, but he swiftly snatched it out of your hands.

"Azriel, stop!" you whined, trying to reach for the book in utter mortification.

He smirked at your discomfort and slowly flipped the book open, his finger trailing over the page as he read. "With a primal growl, he buried his face between my thighs, his tongue eagerly tasting me through the thin fabric." Scrambling to your knees on the sofa, you threw the blanket you were nestled in to the ground, fumbling to reach the book. Even your pointed ears turned a shade of dark red. "Az, please stop reading!" you swallowed hard, trying to pry the book from his hands again.

He chuckled darkly, his grip tightening on the book. The room seemed to grow warmer as he leaned in closer, his breath tickling your ear. "Why? Are you enjoying this?"

You huffed in annoyance, crossing your arms in front of your chest, staring up at his towering form. Your face was perfectly lined up with his crotch. Your eyes narrowed. "Obviously not," you lied, trying to keep your face straight, hoping the scent of your arousal wasn't that strong.

His lips twitched as he caught your lie. He tilted your chin up just enough to make eye contact before he brought the book up slightly, still holding onto it, the description obscene. "I don't think I believe you."

Your heartbeat picked up, his touch lighting a fire inside of you. "That's not my problem now, is it, Shadowsinger?" you tried to fake nonchalance, but your heated skin and subtle glance at the book betrayed your true feelings.

He smirked, his eyes filled with mischief as he watched you, his free hand coming to your cheek to trace it with the pad of his thumb. "Careful, princess, you're giving yourself away." Subconsciously, you closed your eyes, leaning into the warmth of his touch. Your breath hitched when he continued to read the absolute filth of the book aloud.

"His tongue dragged over my clothed cunt as he grunted at the feeling of my arousal-drenched panties." He raised an eyebrow, a smirk forming on his beautiful lips as he skimmed the page further before continuing to read aloud. "Oh, very interesting. My orgasm shattered me, crashing over me like a tidal wave as his fingers worked their way over my swollen clit. His tongue lapping at every bit of my arousal."

"You seem to be enjoying my reading, princess." His hand trailed down from your face, stopping at the curve of your neck. His thumb brushed back and forth over the tender skin there, feeling the pulse quicken under his touch. Your breath caught in your throat, lungs suddenly empty of any air. Heat crawled up your body, and your skin felt like it was burning. "I was also enjoying reading my book before you strolled in here and interrupted me so rudely." His low chuckle rumbled through the room, and he leaned in closer, the added heat from his body enveloping you. "Rude, was I now?" His thumb slipped lower, tracing a line down from your collarbone to the valley of your cleavage.

"Azriel," you said his name, meant as a warning, but the quivering in your voice made it sound more like a plea. His eyes sharpened, jaw ticking as a low sound, something like a growl, slipped past his lips.

"Say my name like that again, and I will fuck you right into the cushions of this couch until you're screaming it for the whole house to hear," he said, voice low and husky but calm and collected. Your eyes widened, and molten lava pooled between your legs. "You have no idea what kind of thoughts you're provoking, princess."

His thumb slipped inside the neckline of your dress, grazing the soft skin of your breast. "Maybe I should give you a taste of what you're asking for, what you're so innocently reading." You closed your eyes, gasping when his fingers dipped lower, skimming across your hardening nipple. You whimpered at the touch, exhaling sharply, one of your hands wandering to wrap around the wrist of his hand that was currently groping at your chest, squeezing your breast in his big hand.

A wicked grin formed at the corners of his mouth, enjoying both your reaction and your desperation for him. He leaned closer, whispering in your ear with hot, fiery breath as he continued teasing you. "Do you want me to fuck you, princess?"

Every bit of restraint you wanted to keep snapped as you surged forward. Now, with his face so close to yours as he hovered so close, you crashed your lips into his, capturing him in a searing kiss. Tangling your hands in his hair, pulling him closer to you, you heard the book drop to the ground, his now free hand rushing to your hip, squeezing it. He growled into your mouth. Pain struck you shortly as he squeezed your breast harshly again, pinching your pebbled nipple.

"Azriel, fuck," you moaned into his mouth, into the kiss, teeth and tongue fighting for dominance. "I don't want you to just fuck me; I need you to completely unravel me."

The kiss was scorching, burning through Azriel's soul and body, igniting a wildfire of desire that almost made him gasp. He snarled against your lips, a primal, possessive sort of sound, his fingers tightening on your hip as you pulled him closer. You pulled him even closer, and with his legs already leaned against the armrest of the sofa, he toppled over. The huge Illyrian male crashing into your body as you also fell back. But the kiss never broke as he now lay on top of you, grunting and starting to kiss down your neck, nipping and licking at your heated flesh. You whined and tugged at his hair as his hand kneading your breast slipped up to tug down your dress, making your breast spill out. He wasted no time exploring the newly exposed skin, biting and kissing over your breast, sucking your nipple into his mouth. He groaned at the taste of you, his tongue swirling over your nipple before sucking it harder into his mouth. His hand trailed down your body, slipping under the fabric of your dress, inching higher until his fingers brushed against your wet core.

"Gods above," you huffed, trying to regain some composure. You pulled at his hair, making him release your nipple with a pop and tilt his head to look at you. The sight of his face made your pussy throb—his dark curls messy and falling into his eyes, hazel swirling with darkness, pupils blown wide with lust, cheeks flushed, and lips glinting with saliva. Realizing you were staring, you groaned. "Fuck, why are you so gorgeous?"

The sound of your almost breathless voice had Azriel smirking, his eyes flashing dangerously when you cursed. "Are you trying to flatter me?"

You rolled your eyes, giving his hair a playful tug. "Gorgeous but a little too cocky for my taste." You mirrored his smirk, biting your bottom lip as you imagined how he'd pound into you, how his fingers would feel inside you. Both his hands sneaked down your torso, coming to rest just above your knees where your summer dress had already bunched up. He gathered it in his hands, maintaining eye contact, and slowly inched the dress up your legs, kissing the newly exposed skin.

"Az, what are you—" you started to ask, but he cut you off.

"We've been fucking all these weeks and I didn't get to taste that pretty little cunt yet," he said, fabric bunching around your hips now, his hot tongue leaving a wet trail on your inner thigh. "And I'm planning on changing that."

Azriel chuckled softly against your skin, the sound vibrating against your thigh as he continued to move his lips further up. His possessive hand on your waist tightened slightly as his mouth finally found the heat of your core, tongue lapping at your clit through the thin lace of your panties.

Your hips bucked in surprise as he softly nibbled on your clit through the lace of your thong. You squeezed your eyes shut at the feeling, your chest heaving, your left hand grabbing onto the cushions, fingers immediately digging into them. Azriel smirked against you, fingers hooking into your panties and tugging them downwards, revealing the smoothness of your bare sex. He groaned softly, almost unnoticeably, hands moving to spread you open for him.

You whined when he pulled apart your legs, your cheeks heating under his intense stare as he seemed to commit the sight of your glistening cunt to memory. "Gods, you have such a pretty pussy," he groaned. You wanted to scream when he dragged his tongue through your folds, from your entrance to your clit, sucking it into his mouth. Your back arched as you gasped.

He hummed against your swollen folds, the vibration making you quake underneath him. His tongue was lethal, and he knew it. He had always wondered if you tasted as sweet as he had imagined, and now he knew the answer was a resounding yes. A sinful moan ripped from your throat when he dove in deeper, prodding his tongue at your entrance and lapping up your arousal, burying his face in your cunt, his nose brushing against your clit. Your toes curled as ripples of pleasure shot down your spine. He moaned into your pussy, tongue delving deeper as he feasted on you, the sound of your moans spurring him on. With one arm wrapped around your thigh, his fingers dug into your flesh possessively. Cauldron, he wanted to drown in your cunt.

"You taste like the sweetest temptation, Princess," he growled into you. "So fucking delicious."

Your other hand, the one not holding onto the sofa for dear life, tangled in his hair again, tugging and pushing him closer into your heat. "Yes, make me cum on your pretty face," you whined.

"Beg for me, Princess," he said, his words muffled by your folds. His tongue lashed out against your clit, teasing mercilessly. With each flick of his tongue, you grew more desperate, your hold on his hair tightening.

You didn't feel like fighting, so you yielded to him, to his will. "Please," you whimpered. "Please, Az, make me cum with your tongue." Every word left you as a whining moan, grinding your hips and your cunt into his face. "Oh, please let me cum all over your pretty face."

Smirking to himself, Azriel obeyed your command. His tongue plunged deeper into your cunt, greedily drinking up your arousal. His fingers continued their assault on your thigh, squeezing and possessing in equal measure. You're mine, he whispered silently.

You cursed under your breath, eyes fixed on the Shadowsinger buried between your legs, feasting on you like a starved male, as if your pussy was his favorite meal. You gasped when his nose pressed into your clit as he basically made out with your cunt. Fuck, if he hadn't ruined you for other males before, he sure did now. The way you watched him between your legs only spurred Azriel on, his hands reaching upward to grasp your hips and force you harder against his hungry mouth. He reveled in the gasps, the desperate sounds leaving your mouth. He owned them now.

You felt the knot in your stomach tighten. "So close," you slurred, desire and lust overwhelming your senses as all you could do was feel. Feel his tongue exploring your pulsing cunt, mapping it out like you once did with the night sky when you were younger.

A low growl vibrated against your pussy as Azriel felt you close to the edge. His hands gripped harder at your hips, keeping you immobile as he continued his relentless assault. He wanted to feel your orgasm shudder through your body and echo against his lips.

With a harsh suck on your sensitive bud, the dam broke, and your release came crashing over you with such force that you saw nothing but white, gasping for air. He maintained his hold on your hips, not letting you escape the intensity of your own orgasm. As you came back down to earth, he released you and gently kissed your sensitive folds before lifting his head, lips curved into a smug smile.

When you opened your eyes again, you saw him gazing at you, your chest heaving with heavy breaths. "That... That was unbelievable," you stated with a shaky voice, swallowing heavily.

He hummed as he crawled back up your body, dress still bunched around your hips, leaving your core exposed. "I am glad to have left you speechless, love," he murmured, positioning himself over you and brushing your hair away from your face. His gaze held a heated intensity that sent shivers down your spine as he lowered his head and captured your lips in a deep, passionate kiss. You could taste yourself on his lips, and you were so lost in it, so lost in the passion, that you didn't notice how he freed his glorious length. You only noticed when his glistening head pressed into your inner thigh.

You moaned into his mouth when he gave you a fake thrust of his hips, lubricating his cock with your arousal. "You're so wet for me, love," he murmured, breaking the kiss and trailing his lips down your jawline to your collarbone. He continued to tease you, rocking his hips and letting his length glide against your folds. "Fuck me already," you gasped as his cock grazed your sensitive clit again.

"Ah ah, patience," he whispered, a sly smile playing on his lips. He slowly teased your entrance, letting the head of his cock slip inside before pulling back out. Whining, you tried to meet his hips with yours, trying to get him to sheathe himself inside of you fully, your arousal surely dripping onto the couch cushions by now.

"Oh no, we can't have that now, can we?" he said, finally giving in and thrusting into you with one swift motion. He gripped your hips, pulling you closer as he began to move inside you. The room filled with the sound of skin slapping against skin.

You screamed out when he set a relentless pace, hips pistoning into you. He stretched you out, his cock reaching places no one had ever reached before, splitting you open. But it hurt so good, as if you were made for him, fitting perfectly around every delicious inch of him. He leaned down, his lips brushing against your ear. "You're so fucking tight, so perfect around me," he grunted, the sound primal and full of lust. He continued to pound into you, the couch moving slightly from the force of his thrusts.

You screamed out his name when the head of his cock hit your cervix repeatedly. He shifted and grabbed your ass with both hands, lifting you up slightly, and you automatically wrapped your legs around his hips, giving him better access. "Fuck, yes," he groaned low in his throat, his rhythm picking up once more as he pushed deeper into you. With each thrust of his hips, he ground against you hard, and the friction was nearly enough to make your eyes roll back into your head.

"Yes, yes, fuck me, tear me apart, Azriel," you gasped, chanting praise and urging him on. "You fill me up so good." He growled low in his throat, his thrusts becoming wilder and more unhinged. "Your pussy was made for me to dominate and destroy. That's what you wanted, isn't it?"

"Yes!" you nodded, whining and writhing beneath him, tears gathering at the corners of your eyes. "Please." As you begged, Azriel grinned down at you, his eyes gleaming with pride and a hint of sadism. He obliged, picking up his pace and slamming into you with almost brutal force. His fingers dug into the skin of your ass, leaving bruises in their wake. "I own that pretty little cunt, don't I?" he snarled, eyebrows pinched as he fucked into you."Yes. Yours, it belongs to you," you panted.

"You're so fucking tight and perfect. I could do this all day and never tire of it," he groaned, fucking you harder. The sound of skin slapping against skin filled the air, blending with your desperate moans.

"What's stopping you?" you mewled, bouncing back the question. "Because of my brother? Because my brother, your High Lord, is also your best friend? Because you don't want him to know that you're fucking his little sister?"

"Fuck, you are a brat," he growled. His hand quickly snapped up from your ass to grip your chin, tilting your head back. "You want me to keep fucking you?" When you whimpered, he gave you a mocking laugh. "Thought so. Then you better behave." You whimpered again, nodding as best you could with his firm grip on your chin. Azriel's smirk grew, a dark promise in his eyes. He released your chin only to grip your hips with both hands, pulling you against him with each powerful thrust. "Good girl," he rasped, his breath hot against your ear. "You know how to behave for me, don't you?"

"Yes, Azriel," you gasped, your nails digging into his shoulders as he pounded into you. "I'll be good for you."He grunted in approval, his pace unrelenting. The relentless rhythm had you teetering on the edge, every nerve in your body igniting with pleasure. His cock hit all the right spots, and the room filled with the symphony of your moans and his growls.

"You're mine," he growled, his voice a low rumble that sent shivers down your spine. "Say it."

"I'm yours," you whimpered, the words tumbling out between gasps. "Only yours, Azriel."

His response was a deep, satisfied groan, his grip on your hips tightening as he drove deeper. The intensity of his thrusts had you crying out his name, your body trembling with the force of your impending release. "Cum for me," he commanded, his voice rough with need. "I want to feel you cum around my cock."

The demand pushed you over the edge, your orgasm crashing through you with a force that left you breathless. You cried out his name, your body tightening around him as waves of pleasure washed over you. Azriel didn't relent, prolonging your ecstasy with each precise, powerful thrust. He watched you intently, reveling in the sight of your pleasure. As you came down from your high, he let out a low growl, his own release nearing.

"Fuck, you're so beautiful when you cum," he murmured, his pace becoming erratic. "I'm going to fill you up, make you mine in every way."

You moaned at his words, your body still trembling as you felt him tense. With a final, deep thrust, he buried himself inside you, his release flooding your senses. He groaned your name, his hands gripping your hips as he rode out his orgasm.

As the intensity subsided, he collapsed on top of you, his breaths ragged and hot against your skin. You wrapped your arms around him, holding him close as you both caught your breath.

Azriel lifted his head, his gaze softening as he looked into your eyes. "You drive me crazy, you know that?" he whispered, a tender smile playing on his lips.

You smiled back, brushing a stray lock of hair from his forehead. "Good," you teased lightly, your voice still breathless. "Because you do the same to me."

He chuckled, pressing a gentle kiss to your lips. "I wouldn't have it any other way," he murmured, his tone filled with affection. As you basked in the afterglow, enjoying the closeness of Azriel's embrace, a sudden shout pierced the air, causing you both to freeze.

"Where are you, you sneaky bastard?" Cassian's voice echoed through the library, filled with mischief and determination. Panic surged through you, adrenaline coursing through your veins as you realized the precariousness of your situation. With a frantic glance at Azriel, you both sprang into action, scrambling to compose yourselves and hide the evidence of your tryst.

Azriel's eyes widened with urgency as he helped you straighten your disheveled dress, his movements quick and efficient. You shared a silent, desperate exchange, a mix of amusement and apprehension flickering between you. With practiced ease, you both managed to arrange yourselves just in time, assuming casual positions as Cassian burst into the library, his grin widening as he caught sight of you.

"There you are," he exclaimed, bounding over to where you sat, completely unaware of the chaos that had just ensued. "I've been looking all over for you!" You exchanged a relieved glance with Azriel, a silent acknowledgment of the close call you had just narrowly avoided. As Cassian launched into animated conversation, his nose wrinkled slightly. "What is that smell?" he asked, glancing around with a confused expression.

You felt your cheeks heat, and you quickly deflected, grabbing a nearby book and fanning yourself as if trying to cool down. "Just some old library dust, Cass. You know how these books can get." Cassian shrugged, apparently satisfied with the explanation. "Yeah, I suppose. Anyway, Az, Rhys wants to talk to you about the latest mission." Azriel nodded, his face perfectly composed. "Of course, I'll head over now."

As Cassian turned to lead the way, Azriel caught your eye and sent you a sneaky smirk and a quick wink, making your heart flutter. You had to bite your lip to keep from laughing, the thrill of your secret adding an extra layer of excitement. With a final smile, Azriel followed Cassian out of the library, leaving you to catch your breath and savor the memory of your passionate encounter.

☆~●~☆~●~☆~●~☆~●~☆~●~☆~●~☆~●~☆~●~☆~●~☆

Feedback is always appreciated and welcome. Also pls feel free to slide into my inbox and talk. I'd really enjoy building up their universe because I'm a sucker for Azriel x Rhys!Sister Reader. The whole dating your brother's best friend trope always gets me and I have soooo many headcanons for them already lol!!

#azriel x reader #smut #x reader #acotar #azriel spymaster #azriel shadowsinger #azriel #reader insert #imagine #azriel acotar #azriel smut #Azriel x rhys!sister Reader

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self-awared · 3 days

Text

The Discovery

Tw/Cw: Using Male MC, mentions of sleep paralysis, kind of short

Rover always knew there was someone watching him.

He figured it out when he felt his body move without his control. His suspicions were confirmed when, while he was trying to figure out what this controlling force was, was suddenly teleported to a rock in the middle of no where.

His head was forced to turn and stare in a random direction, where he saw you for the first time. You weren't a person, just a floating ball of light. But he could hear you...

He could hear your mumbles of how long something was taking to load, and how aggravated you were about forgetting a password.

Finally, he heard your little squeal, and his hand was forced to raise in your direction.

He was shocked when the light came closer and closer to his hand, before entering his body, and he was teleported back to where he was before. This time, he wasn't in control again.

When he felt your presence leave his body, he quickly informed Baizhi of what the hell had just happened.

Rumors spread like wildfire. More and more people began to experience your presence taking control of their body.

It started with the people that Rover had come in contact with when he first woke up. Then, more people that he had interacted with began seeing the little light in their peripheral vision.

A news article did an interview with Rover, and published the following in a newspaper:

Reporter: "What is it like to be controlled by this strange light?"

Rover: "It's hard to describe. It's almost like you're aware of what you're doing, and what's going on around you, but you have no control over your body."

Reporter: "Could it be described as a sort of sleep paralysis?"

Rover: "Precisely."

Reporter: "Do you see the light when you're in this state?"

Rover: "Yes. I see it in my peripheral vision. It's like the light is controlling me in a sort of third-person perspective."

Reporter: "Do you think this light has any bad intentions?"

Rover: "No, I don't. One thing I've noticed is that they're always helping me, whether it helping me achieve some big goal, or just collecting flowers."

Reporter: "Can the light speak?"

Rover laughs.

Rover: Of course. I hear it all the time. Especially whenever I meet someone new.

Reporter: "Are they good or bad things?"

Rover: "...you don't want to know."

#self aware wuthering waves #wuthering waves #wuthering waves x reader #wuwa #sawuwa #sawuwa x reader #wuwa x reader #rover #wuwa rover #self aware

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rip-quizilla · 22 hours

Text

Jinx

Janitor!Eddie X Teacher!Reader

700ish words

It was your first year teaching at Hawkins Middle School, and you’d already failed to establish a respectable work-life balance.

You were new to this career field, eager to prove yourself a capable educator. You always arrived early, always left late. Often, you wound up leaving after everyone but the administrators had already gotten home, undoubtedly to prepare dinner for their families or take care of household chores. You had no one waiting for you at home but your cats, so heading home around 5pm was the norm for you.

Today, you sat grading papers at your desk while Van Morrison played through your headphones. You’d finally settled into a rhythm, methodically bobbing your head to the beat as you drew check marks and X’s with a pink ballpoint pen when suddenly, something in your empty classroom moved out the corner of your eye.

You let out a startled yelp, joined by a twin curse from the ponytailed custodian who’d intruded upon your quiet room. He looked just as surprised as you were, eyes wide with headphones blasting what sounded like the screech of metal guitar from around his neck where he’d quickly shoved them off his ears.

“Shit-” he breathed, chest letting out a heaving breath, “-Sorry, I didn’t realize-”

“I didn’t see-” you began at the same time as him, apologies spilling out of you both simultaneously.

“I shouldn’t have been-”

“My headphones were-”

“Should’ve been paying more-”

“Wasn’t paying attention, I’m-”

“Sorry.”

You spoke as one voice, that last word filling the empty classroom. Slowly, an amused smile broke out across the custodian’s features, his idle hands stuffing themselves into the pockets of his black work pants. His eyes flicked over you at the speed of light before he broke the silence.

“Jinx.”

You chuckled quietly, pausing your music and setting your own headphones down on your desk.

“Guess I owe you a soda.” you retorted, your smiling voice made small by the overpowering after-hours quiet.

He chuckled, shrugging his shoulders. “I never say no to a soda.” Then he got to work, grabbing the small plastic garbage bin from where it sat by your door and pulling the thin plastic lining from it.

You returned to your grading, but left the headphones off your ears out of respect for the presence in your room. You didn’t want to appear rude, after all.

The custodian did the same, leaving his headphones around his neck as he performed various routine tasks around the room. Even from the opposite corner of the space, you could hear his music singing out at top volume from where it rested across his decolletage. Harsh screams and rage tore through the soft-looking spongey speakers, and you were struck by how much they were contrasted by the pleasant air that followed this man who was currently sweeping up crumpled notebook fringe from beneath a wooden desk.

You peered a little closer at his gray uniform shirt where a little embroidered patch sat stitched to his breast pocket. Eddie, it read. You committed the name to memory.

The two of you continued your work wordlessly until he finished, and just before he exited the room he shot you a friendly smile accompanied by a nod of his head.

“Have a good night.”

Those eyes were breathtaking; they were unwavering in their contact with yours. You nodded and grinned, trying not to sound quite as charmed as you felt.

“You too.” you said.

The next day, you’d needed to leave as soon as the final bell rang. Eddie had been slightly disappointed to find your door closed with the light off when he’d gotten to your classroom, but when he’d unlocked the door and flicked on the light to reveal a sweating glass bottle of Coca-Cola on the desk closest to the door, he could’ve sworn his heart did a backflip.

A pink post-it note sat stuck to the surface of the desk next to the bottle.

Eddie, soda’s all yours.

P.S.-per the rules of jinx, I can’t talk until you say my name.

You’d signed your name at the bottom, and Eddie admired the way the ink from your pen bled into a little starburst where the condensation had pooled into a drop at the base of the bottle and dripped to your note below. He peeled the note off, folding it carefully into a small square and sticking it in his pocket. He opened the bottle, lifted it to his lips and drank. It tasted sweet and bright, bubbly and full of unexpected possibilities.

#eddie munson #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson fanfic #eddie munson blurb

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theodorenmyth · 2 days

Text

Jealousy Unveiled

Pairings : Theodore Nott x GN! Reader Summary : He found Cormac flirting with you. A/n : Enjoy (⁠・⁠∀⁠・⁠) Warnings) : Jealousy, Cormac Mclaggen Word count : 777

Theodore Nott had always been a man of few words, a quiet strength that you found endearing. Your relationship—or rather, situationship—was defined by unspoken rules and lingering glances, an understanding that didn’t require labels. It was comfortable, for the most part, until someone else tried to wedge their way into your dynamic.

The Great Hall buzzed with the usual chatter of students, forks clinking against plates, and the occasional burst of laughter. You were sitting at the Slytherin table, enjoying your breakfast, when Cormac McLaggen, with his ever-present self-assured grin, sauntered over. “Good morning,” he greeted, sliding into the seat beside you. “Mind if I join you?”

You glanced up, slightly surprised, but offered a polite smile. “Sure, why not?” Cormac’s eyes sparkled with a mischievous glint. “You know, I’ve always thought you had the most captivating smile in all of Hogwarts. It’s a wonder I don’t see it more often.”

You chuckled, feeling a bit flustered. “Thanks, Cormac. That’s sweet of you to say.” He leaned in a little closer, his voice lowering to a more intimate tone. “You know, there’s a Hogsmeade trip coming up. I was thinking maybe you’d like to join me? We could get a butterbeer or two, maybe even check out some of the shops.”

Before you could respond, a shadow loomed over the table. Theodore Nott stood there, his expression unreadable but his presence unmistakably intense. His eyes flicked to Cormac, then to you, and back to Cormac.

“Is there a problem here?” Theo’s voice was calm, but there was an edge to it that made your heart skip a beat.

Cormac raised an eyebrow, his smirk faltering for a moment. “No problem at all, Nott. Just having a friendly chat.”

Theo’s gaze hardened, and he moved to sit on your other side, effectively boxing you in between him and Cormac. “Funny, it didn’t look all that friendly to me.”

You could feel the tension rising, and you placed a hand on Theo’s arm, hoping to diffuse the situation. “It’s okay, Theo. We were just talking.”

Theo’s eyes softened slightly when he looked at you, but the protective glint didn’t leave. “Just talking, huh? Well, I think Cormac was about to leave, weren’t you, McLaggen?”

Cormac’s smirk returned, though it seemed a bit forced. “Actually, I was just about to ask—”

Theo cut him off, his voice dangerously low. “I think you’ve asked enough.”

Cormac stood up, his expression a mix of annoyance and amusement. “Alright, alright. No need to get territorial, Nott. I’ll see you around, Y/N.”

As he walked away, you turned to Theo, raising an eyebrow. “Territorial much?”

Theo sighed, running a hand through his hair. “I just don’t like the way he was looking at you.”

You couldn’t help but smile at his protectiveness. “Jealous, are we?”

He huffed, a small smile tugging at his lips despite himself. “Maybe a little. Can you blame me?”

You shook your head, leaning in to give him a quick kiss on the cheek. “Not at all. But you don’t have to worry, Theo. I’m not interested in Cormac.”

His eyes searched yours, and he nodded, the tension in his shoulders easing. “Good. Because I’d hate to have to hex him.”

You laughed, feeling a warmth spread through your chest. “You’re ridiculous.”

“Maybe,” he said, a hint of a grin forming. “But I’m your kind of ridiculous.”

You leaned into him, the familiar scent of his cologne calming you. “Yes, you are.”

Theo leaned in, his lips capturing yours in a tender kiss. The Great Hall seemed to fade away, leaving just the two of you in that moment. When you finally pulled away, his forehead rested against yours, both of you breathless and smiling.

"Come on," Theo said, his hand slipping into yours. "Let’s get out of here. We’ve got a lot to talk about."

As you walked hand in hand out of the Great Hall, you felt a sense of peace wash over you. No more secrets, no more stolen glances. It was just you and Theo, ready to face whatever came your way together.

In the days that followed, the change in your relationship was evident to everyone. You and Theo were inseparable, his arm often draped possessively around your shoulders, his eyes filled with a protective warmth whenever anyone dared to approach you. Even Cormac seemed to get the message, keeping his distance and focusing his attentions elsewhere.

For the first time in a long while, you felt truly content. And as you sat with Theo by the Black Lake, his fingers entwined with yours, you knew that this was only the beginning of something beautiful.

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heavenbloom · 2 days

Text

🇵🇸 BEFORE YOU READ:

DAILY CLICK • BOYCOTT TLOU • DONATE

please do not skip over this! continuing to support palestine in any way possible is much more important than reading any piece of fanfiction.

𝐚𝐧 𝐞𝐦𝐛𝐫𝐚𝐜𝐞 𝐨𝐟 𝐭𝐡𝐨𝐫𝐧𝐬

𝒄𝒉𝒂𝒑𝒕𝒆𝒓 𝒊: 𝒊𝒄𝒂𝒓𝒊𝒂𝒏

knight!abby x princess!reader

summary: your plans to usurp your despotic brother are halted when he assigns one of his strongest knights to keep an eye on you. what will wither and what will blossom in her presence?

warnings: 18+, minors do not interact, political elements, fem afab reader, princess reader is manipulative, extensive descriptions of blood and violence, graphic depiction of murder, subtle enemies to lovers (more so in next chapter), degrading terms used in a non-sexual manner, insults, profanity, probably ooc?, not edited, reader discretion advised

a/n: this is HEAVILY inspired by The Jasmine Throne by Tasha Suri. this song is the atmosphere i was going for if you wanted to listen while reading!! dedicating this to @catfern, love you <3

wc: 4.7k

The corpse-quiet hours before dawn settled over the world with the languidness of dripping wax. There was a tenseness to it, beneath the silence, the twinings of a tautly strung instrument. You could smell it on the breeze too, a lick of disturbance carried sharply on the air alongside the fragrance of jasmine and rose. This night was a thing too tender for imminence, you thought, as you watched off-white petals scatter across pristine marble.

You felt it in your bones first, as it reverberated through the night. It felt like rolling thunder across the mountainside, but it was far too regimented to be birthed from mother nature. No, you knew this sound as intimately as your own heartbeat.

Hoofbeats. Steadfast, almost urgent, as they ascended towards the palace. Through your balcony, you could see a sea of them, clad in the pure white of moonlight and the gold of dawn. At the very front jostled a garish carriage swathed in the same colours, flying your nation’s flags. You stepped further out onto the balcony. A retinue, a homecoming. Your brother has returned.

Of course, ease slid through your veins at the fact that it was not a darker reality encroaching, but it curdled instantaneously, soured by the notion that you would merely be a marionette tugged upon and prettied up in order to appease him. A dutiful princess, you would play the part of orator, musician, perhaps finally bride to a stranger if the King and all his attendants had his way. What were you but a flower with an endless array of malleable petals to be arranged this way and that?

You drank in the perfumed scents that swirled around you, a sigh passing your parted lips. The silk curtains of your suite lifted like a breath, the solid colour broken apart by somebody familiar, whose chest rattled for the solace of fresh air.

Your features did not falter as your eyes remained fixed upon the retinue fast approaching. The girl, one of your many pairs of watchful eyes, strode towards you, sweat upon her brow, a worrisome crease at the youthful corner of her lips. You remained fixed as you felt the brush of rough parchment against your smooth palm.

Politics was a game played by degrees, after all. It demanded quiet, the slithering of a black-belllied snake in the grass, waiting for the perfect moment to coil around its prey and squeeze. You let the paper unfurl against the wind, let it flap in the air as you read word upon word scrawled onto the page with an unsteady hand.

You knew what you hungered for, the prey that dangled just out of reach above your open maw. It glistened deepest oceanic blue cast in gold, and it sat safely atop of your tyrannical brother’s head.

Like all noble daughters, you knew that patience was a virtue. Things did not fall easily into your lap, so you would have to work for it, a dog searching ceaselessly for a single scrap of bone. You would let the meat of the empire simmer, wait until it was your turn to have your fill.

The parchment began to crinkle under the ferocity of your grip as your brother flashed through your mind. His smile, all canines. The cruelty that lurked just beneath the surface of that untarnished exterior.

With a fiery savagery singing in your veins, you silently declared that his crown would be yours.

𖥸 𖥸 𖥸

The day’s last light was beginning to wither away, its last breath sweeping across the courtyard below and setting it ablaze. The air that seemed like an extension of your own lungs the night before was cloying now, pollen stuck in the crevice of your throat and tightening it with fist-strength.

There were certain things you expected of your brother, but this…

Your eyes flitted from the balustrade to the woman who stood just behind the gauzy silk draped across the doorway. She had a straight spine to match the strength in her features. Slight aquiline nose, plump lips, and those eyes, crystalline blue but honed from years of slinking, silent observation. There was no denying the touch of regality woven throughout her being. If somebody had said she were an empress from some distant land, you would have believed them.

It wasn’t such an extravagance that granted you with her presence, though. A white cape threaded with gold was draped around her armour-laden shoulders. There was a sword at her hip, but the breadth of her body alone was enough to make anybody hesitate.

This woman, whose body was carved for the gruesomeness of the battle, was to be your watchful knight, under oath to quash any harm that may arise.

A bitterness rose from the pit of your stomach to the back of your throat. Sworn protector. The words thrummed in your skull like jailer. It was clear from her unbroken gaze alone where her loyalties were placed, at the feet of your brother and your brother alone.

You were the first to break your eyes away, demurely, subtle but unerringly feminine, and more importantly, inferior. Your spine was straight, but you hung your head slightly, letting your eyes wander along the outline of lush greenery below. Your hands skimmed along the finery that swathed your body. You appeared reticent and meagre, but every minute movement was deliberate on your part, a dance in which you knew all the steps.

Her shadow of a presence was a setback, certainly, something to keep you at bay, but if you wove the right tale, spun an intricacy of honeyed words and laid syrupy sweetness upon her… this one, like any other, could be used, moulded and rolled like clay with the right pressure. All you had to do was locate a chink in her armour.

You gave a hesitant pause, counted to three, until you walked the expanse of the balcony, back into your quarters, the tinkling of weighty jewellery sounding with each step you took. Even closer, she appeared much more powerful, the jagged lines of her face schooled into sternness. The refusal to drop her gaze in the presence of her new lady sent a shiver down your spine.

“Abigail.” Your voice was gentle, the lulling of a flute. “I am grateful for your service. To my dear brother, of course, but especially to me.” You stepped closer to her, but remained at a polite distance, a benevolent smile gracing your lips.

Her face remained the same, but there was a slight quirk to her thick brows. She was used to doing bloody work for the King, but you could tell that she was unused to interacting with royalty. “My loyalty is to the crown. I would do anything His Majesty asked of me, princess.” Ah, what a well trained response. As expected of one of the most renowned weapons in your brother’s arsenal.

“Yes, and it warms my heart.” You ensured your smile widened, your eyebrows softening in tandem with the lovely upward curve of your mouth. “I have heard stories of your bravery. To have such a hero protect myself alone… well, it feels rather a waste of talent, does it not?”

Her lips parted for a moment at the steer in conversation. You could see the hardness melting from her face like butter, replaced by an expression unreadable. It was too early to tell whether there was now a weakness to strike at, but it was better than talking to the righteous facade of her. “My talents can be just as useful in the Royal Palace as they would be on the battlefield.” Her words were as certain as solid stone, unmoving in their conviction.

“Such a noble heart you have.” You let the distance close between the two of you, then, your body just a few mere inches away from steel. Your hand met the one at her side, soft fingers grazing across leather, the cool hilt of her sword brushing against your knuckles. “But you do not need to protect me. Guards swarm this palace, after all.”

You expected abashment, the averting of that steady, unbreakable gaze, but not so much as a twitch of her fingers was drawn out of her. Still, you pressed on, as a thumb circled a spot on her gloved hand. “You would be better suited to attacking any threats at the root, dear knight. I could arrange you to be back where you once were. Not here, not with me.”

These lies, this faux flattery, left your tongue with the ease of second nature. You had none of the power you wished to possess, and you could not fulfil any such promise to her, but a few sweetened words could at least put you in her good favour, string her along for at least for a few moments outside of her obstructive gaze.

Something flashed across her features, but it was not the distant yearning for battle, not even the consideration of your hefty offer. You felt her thick fingers slip, gently, out of your grasp. Shock burst in your chest when her lips curled into a smile. Not completely unkind, but belittling all the same.

“The way we view honour differs greatly, princess.” Her mouth shaped the words slowly, deliberately and they hung in the air like an accusation. The last of the sun filtered through the balcony, causing the stray hairs framing her face to shine gold, the dust of freckles on her cheeks to appear like a smattering of starlight. You were once again struck by the wondrous beauty of her, a blow to the ribs.

You urged the swell in your guts down hastily.

“Is it so dishonourable,” you started, choosing to focus instead on that same jagged ambition that ate away at you, “to desire glory for oneself?”

The eyes that you thought resembled a pristine shoreline now darkened with the implications of your question. You watched as the storm passed across her face, as the act of noble knight swallowed her whole once more.

“Glory means nothing if it is not for the sake of serving the King.” She finally averted her gaze to the rolling gardens below.

“Our King.”

𖥸 𖥸 𖥸

Thunder rippled across the charred night sky, the rain beating against the earth with the ferocity of a thousand rapid heartbeats. Your quarters burst white and fizzled with each lightning strike, and you could see the dozing face of Abigail each time. She laid, with one arm cradling the back of her head, in a cot at the foot of your bed, her golden-brown lashes long enough to cast wispy shadows on the apples of her cheeks under the inconsistent light. Even in her sleep, she seemed to be withholding herself from you, despite the stretch of days you had spent together thus far.

Beneath the writhing rage that clawed at your insides, you felt a soft pang, something faint and unfamiliar, for this woman. She was forced to live her days, in utter numbness, waiting for an attack on your life that would never come. She was here to intimidate you into compliance, at your brother’s whims, and she was completely unaware of it. To be a pawn in such a twisted game unwittingly… It was cruel. But weren’t you attempting to do the exact same? The hypocrisy was completely not lost on you.

You watched her sleeping figure for a few more moments until you were certain she was asleep. Then, soundlessly, you slipped out of the embrace of your bed. The air was cool but heavy with humidity as you walked on the balls of your bare feet, your nightgown brushing your ankles and sending an anxious tremble up your body. You tried to move as swiftly as you could. Your spies and confidants were loyal enough, but even they would not wait out the entire night for you when there was other work to be done at dawn.

An electric thrill jolted your being when you clasped the door handle. Was evading her watchful eye really so easy? Was all you had to do is slink around in the deep hours of dark? You bit down a smile as the heavy door gave way . Freedom, for a few mere minutes at least, was just beyond the door…

“My Lady?” Something glacial hardened in your veins. The voice was hoarse with the remnants of slumber, but there was no doubting the razor-edge awareness of it.

For a beat, you were too stunned to face her. When you didn’t turn, she spoke again. “Princess, what are you doing out of bed?”

What was the safest way to avoid her suspicion? The crashing of thunder sliced through your thoughts like a knife, offering you an escape route on a silver platter.

You whorled around, your eyebrows high-strung. Abigail was sitting upright, her head tilted and her unbound blonde hair dripping over one shoulder. There was no armour covering the wide expanse of her chest, a rare exposure of bare collarbone and surprisingly soft skin. You would perhaps never get used to the sight.

You clutched the fabric of your nightgown and widened your eyes, fawn-frightened. “Abigail, I…” you let your voice taper off into a quiver.

She was up in an instant and striding towards you, brows knitted together. Despite the urgency vibrating every cell in her body, her large hands cupped your shoulders with a gentleness you thought so disjointed for a woman of her size and profession. You doubted she would have touched you if it weren’t for the haze of confusion that overpowered her usual meticulousness.

“What is the matter? Speak to me, princess.”

“I-it’s absurd, I…” You trembled ever so slightly and could only pray that you were convincing. “The storm… well, it frightened me. I apologise. You mustn't be used to such frivolity.”

The tautness of her bow-strung body seemed to drift away all at once. Her shoulders drooped and she smiled, this time a thing of pure relief. “Is that all that this is?”

You nodded once, pulling yourself inward more and silently thanking whichever god had just granted you quick wits. She tsked softly and brought you closer to her. The warmth of her body was comforting, as alive as the spark upon a coal.

“You can wake me when you’re frightened, my lady,” she breathed out, her breath rustling the hair at your ear.

“I thought– I didn’t wish to burden you.” For once, there was a distasteful speck of truth in your words. She was a thing too gentle and straightforward for the ugliness of court politics. How could you ask her to help you usurp a throne she adamantly kneeled at the foot of?

“Princess,” she sighed, her hands trailing from shoulder to elbow. “Your brother has tasked me to protect you.” A lie, and yet she believed it so wholeheartedly. A loyalty as steady as a heartbeat.

“You cannot salve for every little thing that ails me.”

“There’s a sort of protection in comfort, is there not?” Such naive words, ones a child could have spoken, but they rang throughout your entire being.

She was diluted ink in the dark of the storm, but the whites of her eyes and teeth shone with the sheen of pearl. Your lips parted, drinking in a shaky inhale. You should have kept playing the delicate flower in distress, but you were teetering on the edge of something dangerous and curious, a hunger that gnawed at the very marrow of your bones. A hunger that you had no choice but to satiate.

“And how do you intend to comfort me, dear knight?”

A moment of something heady passed, and you could practically see the churning of her mind, the weight of precariousness at her throat like a glinting blade. You knew then that the same starvation engulfed her own being, your hands slithering down to her wrists and clutching them.

“I would do whatever you ask of me, My Lady–”

“No,” you cut her off, tracing a sliver of puckered flesh that outlined her bare wrist. A quaint shiver wracked her shoulders at the abrupt stone of your voice, unbidden. “No, Abigail. How do you wish to comfort me? Speak plainly.”

“I want…” Her voice was strained, the word leaden and fumbling on her tongue, her own will now foreign to her. Her hands tightened around your elbows. “What I want… what I desire, is not so easily spoken, princess.”

Even in the dark, her eyes were the bottomless wells of a carefully guarded vulnerability. You wanted to chip away at that wall she had between you and her, between anyone but her fiery devotion and her own self.

You cupped her cheeks with the soft, uncalloused palms of your hands, watched as her reluctance dissolved with the touch.

“Then show me.”

Perhaps all that was needed was an uttered confirmation that you felt the same infuriating emotions. You had torn through the neat little bow of restraint that kept her being together, and now it was uncontainable, this ever-swelling.

There was a moment of hesitation, shared breath mingling sweetly, before she pressed her lips to yours. She cradled your waist as if you were porcelain, but her kiss was a beast of want, all teeth and tongue. Your back melded with the carvings of the door as she nudged you back, wooden jasmine blossoms and orchids keeping you tethered to the moment. You kissed back with just as much viciousness, astonished by your own affections welling up like crimson from a finger pricked.

It was with the ebb and flow of ocean waves that she let you go just as promptly as she had kissed you, her face a hazy mass of surprise in the semi-dark, leaving only the remnant of her warmth against your skin, the phantom of soft lips and tongue.

Her fingers scraped her blonde locks away from her face, chest heaving.

“Princess,” she spoke through the ragged edge of her breath. There was a singed quality to her voice, raw and crisp. “Princess, it would be improper to continue.”

Disappointment, to your dismay, pooled in the pit of your stomach. You turned your head to the side and gave a feeble nod, swallowing at the thick knot lodged in your throat. Letting her warm your bed would be unwise, you reminded yourself now. It would serve no purpose to your goals, and a lovesick knight trailing you around was the last thing you needed. And yet...

“We cannot cross that line,” she whispered. You felt the gentle snaking of arms around yours as you were pulled close to her chest, your ear snug against it. “But I am still here.” Her heartbeat was hummingbird-rapid, a reflection of your own.

She led you back to the bed and watched intently as you laid down beneath the smooth blanket. You stared in return. How was a person sharpened for such luridness able to wield tenderness the way she did a weapon? It was more frightening, you silently mused, than any tale of her violence could offer. It did little to divert the ache that seeped to your very bones, the craving for it.

Lightning still ruptured the heavens, followed dismally by a cacophony of thunder.

“Abigail.” Your hand drifted into the air, toward her. She held it gently in both of hers.

“Are you still frightened?”

Your plan for the night had been uprooted, and you had no choice but to remain here in this room. You traced each feature of hers with your eyes, lingering on the worrisome crease of her brow. Perhaps… “Yes, a little.”

Perhaps, this once, sweet selfishness was justified. Perhaps you could let this sordid business of trickery and usurpation float from your mind. This once…

“Will you lay beside me?” You sat up, peeling the blanket aside. “It would help me a great deal.”

“My lady…”

“Innocently, of course,” you reassured. “To know someone is beside me, to share that warmth… it would ease my nerves greatly.”

A beat passed, then another. “I think… It's something I also need. For tonight.”

“For tonight,” you echoed, patting the empty space of the bed next you.

She clambered in beside you without another word, a slow exhale escaping her when her head softly hit the pillow. You could feel her breath fan over your face gently, followed by a soothing, steady hand on your arm.

“Will you hold me?” There was a waver in your cadence, something unbearably soft puckering to the surface. “Is that okay?”

You were encircled by her arms, so gently that you felt, something swirl inside of you, just to then sink.

Consciousness left her almost instantly at the feel of your body against hers. The comfort of someone to hold in the eternal stretch of night elleviated the quiet ache that thrummed and tugged at her own being.

You listened as she slipped into a deep, dreamless sleep, until the sky stopped its tears and the only sound that could be heard was the rhythmic thump, thump, thump of her heart at your ear.

𖥸 𖥸 𖥸

The marble was icy beneath the soles of your feet, each footfall echoing softly through the desolate, cavernous halls. The lanterns flickered low, the walls cast in leaping, ravenous shadows.

Wait for me at the entrance to the orchard, you had told your spy, an inconspicuous place for business made in the night, but as you reached the intricately designed archway, you were met with the absence of the living. The sharp smell of damp earth and overripe fruit wafted through the open space, yet it did little to calm the eerie feeling in your blood.

Perhaps you were too late, or perhaps she had appeared conspicuous. A fist of disappointment twisted at your gut, but relief flooded your veins with it. There was silence, at least. Stagnance was a better ordeal than disruption. You turned away from the trees, feet almost silent without the usual finery adorning your ankles.

A whisper against the precious stone. Something scratching and picoting, until you felt the brush of it at your leg. Frozen, you peered at what had touched you. A piece of flimsy paper, the uncertain handwriting that you had come to know so well. Between the looping letters of secret after secret unfurled, vermillion stained the thin sheet. Vibrant. Fresh.

A man at the very first tree, the shimmer of the whites of his eyes furious and expansive. You knew this face, these pompous clothes, the cruel, all-knowing scowl on his lips. Your brother’s confidant and his closest advisor. If this man could stretch himself as thin as a carpet to soften your brother’s steps, he would have.

His movements were rigid, yet quick as he lunged in your direction, teeth bared and motivated by his sweltering rage alone. His cheek was streaked with the same shade of red.

“You treasonous whore!” He swiped his hands at you, but you scrambled away at the very last moment. “Traitor!”

“My Lord–” Your heart thrusted against your ribcage, your breath coming out in uneven, shattering breaths. There was no cajoling such a blind beast. His voice was much too loud, his body propelled by something untethered to reason.

You were going to be found out. He had the evidence and his screams were enough to alert any guards patrolling the slumbering palace. You had to do something, you had to–

He lunged forward again, forceful yet sloppy. Your body began to react on its own accord.

The blade was an ugly little thing, stolen from beneath Abigail’s pillow weeks ago and fastened in a makeshift sheath of torn silk and ribbon, held steadily enough by a bangle at your wrist. It was in your hand, slipping from the snugness of the material and clanging against the jewellery with the same delicate ring of anklet bells chiming in the midst of dance and song. A song of retribution, thrumming, awake and unabated, in your veins.

The moment was a blur, the contact of iron to skin one you could not even comprehend until a surprised, wet sound bubbled forth from the nobleman’s lips. He slumped forward against the blade, his eyes glassy. Lifeblood trickled down the hilt of the blade and down your fingers. The warmth of it made your stomach churn.

Before you could pull the blade out, he swayed to the side, toppling to the ground with a sickening thump. Crimson bled across the stark white of the floor, pooling beneath his now motionless body.

The bile of pure panic rose to your throat, face leached of warmth. What have I done? What have I done? What have I–

“Princess?” A voice of honeycomb, even when it wavered with such uncertainty.

No.

You stared ahead, the bulky outline of her blurring only to refocus as she got closer. There was a look that had never graced her face before, one of confusion mixed with something akin to horror. Had she known this man? Taken orders from him?

But she did not look down at the grim image at her feet, but rather at you. Your stained fingers, the way your face had grown ashen and fear-stricken.

Her fingers ghosted over your cheek, but stopped short of making contact. “What…” You could hear the thoughts that knotted in her mind. How could such a sweet thing – you – do this?

A shout sounded down the hall, and you flinched, eyes darting in the direction as a new wave of bone-rattling fear crashed down upon you. There was a clamour, the sound of swords against urgently moving legs.

Abigail pulled her hand away from you as if seared. Hardness seeped into the cracks where her moment of bare emotion shone. A moment ticked by, voices growing closer.

With a flash of movement, she yanked the blade out of the lifeless body beside her, a sickening squelch that did not seem to rattle her, and turned her back on you. Surely she had to be more selfish than this?

“Abigail–”

“Be silent and stay behind me.”

Your voice sank down into an urgent whisper. “Your recklessness is going to get you killed.”

Her head turned toward you then, her gaze meeting yours. Blue flame, a flicker of pure torment.

“You have already made me your accomplice.” They should have been sweet, simple words, but they held the acrid tang of rotting fruit, bitter and wilting despite their saccharine nature.

They were encircling you in an instant, guards wearing the colours of the sun and the moon. Their swords were raised, but they waited for something…

The guards parted, roiling ocean waves. You watched as your brother stepped his way to the front, head held high.

Without a single word, Abigail dropped to her knees, the blade clanging against the floor and skidding away from her to rest at his feet.

Your brother did not spare her a glance. His eyes pinned you in place, cold and measured. He did not ask about the commotion or point grieving eyes towards his closest advisor. No, he already decided on what truth in this he would spin and alter in order to squash you beneath his bejewelled hand.

As he stared you down, you gazed at the back of Abigail’s neck, peach-toned skin peaking beneath the cascade of blonde waves over her shoulders. You wanted to reach out, to touch her one last time if only to bid farewell.

Such a rotten heart you had. You felt it thump mournfully, greed winning out in the end.

Your lips remained tightly locked as she took the fall for your turpitude, an act of the foulest betrayal.

As you watched them drag her away, you may as well have been clapping the chains around her wrists yourself.

Who knew that even a blade of the soul could be double-edged?

#kinda rusty so don’t mind the inconsistency 😭#abby anderson #knight!abby #abby anderson x reader #abby tlou #abby the last of us #tlou #tlou2 #the last of us #tw blood

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aemondtargaryenonlyfans · 1 day

Text

DEEP DEVOTION.

Daemon Targaryen x pregnant!Targaryen!Reader

WARNINGS: SEXUAL CONTENT - MDNI; canon typical incest/targcest (implied), p in v, oral (fem receiving), cockwarming, pregnant sex, lactating, lactation kink

WORDS: 2.5 K

NOTES: Sorry, I love deleting and editing older stuff. This is an oldie - use it to prepare for my Cregan lactation kink stuff. 😌

✖️ 𝐚𝐝𝐝 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫𝐬𝐞𝐥𝐟 𝐭𝐨 𝐦𝐲 𝐭𝐚𝐠𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭!

If there’s something you admire about your husband it’s that he has always been a generous lover. It’s his ample experience that truly pays off whenever you two are staying in bed – or somewhere entirely else – solely depending on where the burning desire overcomes you both.

And that desire is the main reason he’s put a child in you just shy of three moons after your bedding ceremony.

Wild and exciting are terms you’d use to describe you both indulging in the pleasures of flesh. He’s just a little too rough, and always borderlining between being unbelievably good and almost too much – that was, until he has learned you are carrying his babe.

Where he has taken you like a common whore before, he now takes his time with you; one of his large hands splayed on your growing stomach while he insists on taking you in no other position than on your back with him between your parted legs.

Sometimes you manage to sweet-talk him into allowing you to sit astride him, coaxing him to give in with the sweetest praises and offers falling past your lips in the tongue of your ancestors, but even then, his hands always rest on your hips for him to guide your movements and set the pace.

And this night is no different.

You’ve just recently crossed the six moon mark, and your bump and breasts swelled generously already. If you didn’t know better, you’d say it’s ridiculous how much your body has changed over the time, considering you still have four moons to go. Comparing your bodies to the ones of other pregnant women at court, kind of around the same stage of pregnancy as you, you’ve quickly noticed that your body looked different. However, they aren’t carrying the offspring of a true Targaryen, and their bodies don’t need to provide enough milk for the little life growing inside of them, because they aren’t carrying a dragon.

Lying on your back with Daemon’s silver mop of hair between your parted legs, you have your head tipped back, eyes glued to the ceiling. He has been lazily licking at your folds for too long at this point, not noticing that you aren’t finding much joy in it anymore given the lack of variation.

As you look down at him, you see that his lilac eyes are fixed on you – just not at your face. And when you tilt your head down to follow his trail of sight, you quickly learn the reason why. Where your breasts just have felt hard and heavy to the touch before, they now look like it as well, entirely ready for him.

A few droplets of milk oozed out of your darkened buds, running down the curves of your breasts. It has happened plenty of times before but only very rarely with direct touch, and never in his presence.

There’s admiration in his gaze, tinged with something more carnal, primal – hunger. It’s enough to send a shiver down your spine, and coaxes a renewed wave of your arousal to ooze out of your core.

Your hand entangles in his silver strands, and while that touch seems to be enough to pull him out of his trance, you give him no time to react as you tug him up by his hair to tower over you.

He doesn’t speak, unusual for someone who always has something to say, and his questioning gaze is enough to have you chuckling softly. Cupping his cheeks, you pull him in for a kiss. “I should have warned you, husband, my apologies. I started leaking very recently,” you whisper against his lips.

Just like the many times before, you wrap your legs around his waist. You have easily flipped him onto his back like this plenty of times before, but never with your bump and breasts so swollen, which makes you rely on some of his help. Utterly mesmerized by the sight, there comes no objection from your husband, and soon enough you straddle his hips, sitting astride him with his hard cock captured between your soaked cunt and his lower stomach.

It takes a few grinds of your hips to fully coat his cock in your arousal, sliding back and forth with ease. His raspy groans are almost drowned out by the moans you release each time the tip of his cock rubs against your sensitive pearl.

Your husband knows his job as you lift your hips, bringing one hand to your arse to support your weight while the other grips the base of his cock to align him with your needy cunt, inviting you to sink down on him.

The delicious stretch is enough for you both to finally moan in unison. One of your primal instincts is to cup your swollen belly at the sensation, fingers splayed out to support the burgeoning bump. Not wasting a moment, your husband’s large hand joins yours, resting atop of it and covering it in its entirety.

You always marvel at it when you’re on top of him, but Daemon truly looks as though he has been created by The Seven, and, most importantly, just for you. His usually neat, silver hair is disheveled and splayed out around his face, his scars, the testament of the many wars he’s fought, on full display, and his muscles twitch each time your core clenches around him.

And yet it’s crystal clear that the lilac eyes of the dragon between your legs still don’t know where to settle. His dark-blown gaze flickers from your face down to where you both are connected and eventually focuses on your bouncing breasts, but it doesn’t stay there for too long, always finding another, even more interesting part of your body until it eventually comes back to your breasts again.

And even your body seems to notice your husband’s unabashed interest in them, because they suddenly feel heavier than before – too firm and too full, and practically begging for his attention. With full anticipation, Daemon awaits for you to move so he can enjoy the show he was going to receive, however, you’ve overestimated your stamina.

“You should have listened to me,” Daemon says smugly, although his voice is caught by a particularly tight clench of your walls. He bends forward, his strong arms wrapped around your middle and pulling you closer. As your perky buds press against his chest you can’t help but whimper, too sensitive to press so tightly against his body. The close contact forces some more milk to leak out of your breasts, wetting both your chests. “Let me–”

“No,” you protest, shaking your head to make a point.

You slowly rock your hips back and forth, your movements faltering every now and then in response to his closeness and tight grip. His muscles flex, indicating that it feels good for him but that he just doesn’t like the position and your clear discomfort that comes with it.

“Must you always be so stubborn?” The annoyance in his voice is audible, and his patience is clearly running thin.

As Daemon’s head tilts upwards, yours bows forwards, both your foreheads resting against each other with your hips coming to a stop. Indecent thoughts have never before been the bloom of your embarrassment, but it seems that it comes with the pregnancy and your changing body.

It’s him tightly squeezing your arse that catches your attention again, your writhing body pressing against his. “What is it?” he asks sternly

There’s no escaping him, you’re certain. And with him looking at you like a predator looking at its prey, you know it’s just a matter of moments until he’ll force an answer out of you. But where your voice fails you, you figure it’s easier to show what’s on your mind, how you need him.

Tilting your upper body back slightly, you wipe at the dark skin of your bud, his eyes eagerly following your fingers. The whiny sounds that leave your lips at the soft stimulation are enough to snap the last lingering threads of Daemon’s resolve, a growl-like sound rumbling in his chest.

A few more droplets trickle down your skin at the contact, and when you reach to wipe your fingers clean on the covers, Daemon is quick to seize your wrist and bring it up to his mouth instead.

He leans forward, nuzzling at your fingers to take in the scent of you, before both digits are engulfed by his lips. It’s something you’ve thought of since the first time you have wetted one of your gowns, yet seeing it with your own eyes is something entirely different that makes you gasp.

It’s not the first time he sucks on your fingers, but this time it’s different. The burning that settles between your legs causes you to squeeze your thighs around his hips, and you’re sharply reminded of him still being inside of you when he bucks his hips up in return.

But that’s not where he stops.

His large palm comes up to cup the swell of your breast, the pad of his thumb brushing your hardened bud before he applies a bit of pressure to coax more milk out of it. Whimpering again at the contact, the sound quickly turns into a moan the moment his tongue swirls over your little bud, cleaning away the slip of fluid that has escaped.

If your husband wasn’t so familiar with your body, seeing how it approved of his actions and all but melted against his touch, he would have considered stopping.

His mouth latches around your bud, slowly starting to suck, and you can’t help yourself but to arch your back, shoving your breasts further into his face and mouth. Your arms wrap around his neck, bending at the elbow to entangle into the hair on the crown of his head, combing your fingers through it. He is all but forced to your breasts now, and you’d fear that he’s close to suffocating, if it wasn’t for you knowing all too well that he’d gladly die this way – with his lips on your tits, suckling on what is solely designated for the babe he has put in your belly.

Each suck of his mouth has your cunt clenching around his throbbing cock, slowly but surely coaxing you to rut your hips back and forth with newfound vigor.

Droplets of milk rest in the corners of his mouth as he pulls back to release a heedy groan. The lack of stimulation causes you to whine, a frown etching onto your features, but as soon as you catch a glimpse of the sight beneath you, you feel a fresh wave of arousal drip out of your cunt, coating his cock and thighs. His lips are swollen, a sight you merely know from your exuberant hours of kissing, and his chiseled features are framed by your full breasts on either side of it.

“Keep going, husband,” you whimper, “do not stop.”

Applying a bit of pressure to his head with your elbows, you nudge him forward to encourage him to continue his ministrations to which he eagerly complies. Banding his arms around your middle, he brings you closer to him again.

You can’t stop yourself from whining words of praise at the relief you feel when he resumes, this time taking rather large gulps of milk like a greedy babe, the sounds of his messy slurping filling your ears. Knowing you are providing for your unborn babe is good, but it doesn’t compare to the feeling of your husband emptying your full breasts.

With every suckle of his lips, you take in a sharp breath, and when his hand comes up to squeeze the slowly sagging flesh of your breast, the pressure in it long gone with the amount of milk he has drunk, you gently rock your way through your peak.

“Gods, yes–,” you cry out, your sentence cut off by a moan. “Just like that… please.” You aren’t even sure what you are begging for, since he has already given you all you could’ve ever asked for, but the relief and pleasure his mouth and cock grant you rob you of the ability to form any coherent thoughts, your mind hazy with lust.

You are sopping wet, labored breath drowning out the squelching sounds of your core repeatedly dragging over his thick cock to calm the storm that rages within you. You aren’t able to see it, but you feel that he is coated in more than one of your juices. Milk dribbles down the corners of his mouth and chin, whereas his stones, his cock and his thighs are coated in your arousal.

He’s still snugly nestled inside of your warm and wet womanhood, and besides the throbbing and pulsing, it doesn’t move much, he doesn’t move much, solely indulging in your efforts. It’s a welcomed surprise to not have his hips pistoning in and out of you, making it much more bearable to keep him inside of you even after the effects of your peak subside.

The previous firmness of your breast is long gone, and only once the spasming of your core around him stops, Daemon dares to pull away from you. “You taste divine, my love.”

“Then keep going,” you whimper the demand, strands of your hair clinging to your sweaty skin.

You are less vocal as he focuses on your other breast, and just enjoy the sensations that course through you, paying attention to what elicits which response from your body. His cock is still buried hard and wanting inside of you, and you settle into a slow and steady rhythm with his mouth now working your other breast.

But not only you are deeply affected by this. It’s so strange, so illicit, that even your husband slowly but surely feels the familiar tingling at the tip of his cock, despite you not moving much, sending a shudder through his core.

As he applies just the edge of his teeth to the sensitive skin of your little bud, a second peak washes over your body in an ambush, and you chase your pleasure in a haze, oblivious to Daemon being close to completion as well.

Keening and shaking against him with the force of your peak, Daemon’s body eventually seizes, his cock spilling his seed deep inside of you, a strained groan of him fanning over your wet skin. If you wouldn’t be growing round with his child already, you surely would’ve been with one after this, his seed filling you up to the brim and slowly leaking out of your spasming hole.

With you being tight and warm around him, it proves to be a challenge to get Daemon to release the sensitive bud, too keen to drink every last drop of your milk while you grow somewhat sore and uncomfortable at this point.

But when he finally does, he looks up at you with lust-blown eyes, the familiar lilac replaced by black. You lick your lips, eyes flickering between his and his lips, swollen and covered in the last remnants of your milk, begging for your attention.

Your head bows down, capturing his lips in a soft kiss, and as the taste of your milk on his tongue spreads over yours, you can’t stop a moan from spilling into his mouth. His arms wrap around your body yet again, pulling you closer against him. And this time, it doesn’t feel painful when your breasts are squeezed by his firm chest, causing you to sigh in content.

“Avy jorrāelan.” I love you.

312 notes · View notes

theyluvkarolina · 3 days

Text

𝐆𝐎𝐎𝐃𝐁𝐘𝐄, 𝐌𝐘 𝐁𝐑𝐈𝐓𝐈𝐒𝐇 𝐒𝐖𝐄𝐄𝐓𝐇𝐄𝐀𝐑𝐓

· . ୨୧⭒๋࣭ ⭑ ` ` So, I don't blame you, if you want to bury me in your memory, I'm not the girl I ought to be ` ` ⊹ ‧₊˚

𝐑𝐄𝐐𝐔𝐄𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐃?: Yes! (Part of 1K Event!)

𝐒𝐔𝐌𝐌𝐀𝐑𝐘 ୨୧ Loving Lando is like how the Earth circles the sun. In absolute awe and admiration. But the Earth is slowly destroying itself in the presence of this star. The rays of this sun are burning away at this Earth’s ozone layer, maybe even going as far into this Earth’s core.

𝐏𝐀𝐈𝐑𝐈𝐍𝐆 ୨୧ Lando Norris x Fem!Driver!Reader

𝐅𝐀𝐂𝐄 𝐂𝐋𝐀𝐈𝐌 ୨୧ Amna Al Qubaisi

𝐖𝐀𝐑𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐆𝐒 ୨୧ fighting, misogyny (not by the grid or lando), reader is kinda… bitchy?? (based off of high adrenaline, and insecurities that overtake her mind.)

𝐀/𝐍 ୨୧ God. Whenever I hear this song and think about Lando, all i think about is him and Luisiha. :( Again, I made this not in a SMAU format i’m used to. I decided to make the reader replace Daniel for the fic (I STILL LOVE HIM I PROMISE 😭😭)I hope you still like it! Tbh, I feel like I didn't do this request justice. If I have a chance some point in time, I might rewrite it.

𝐖𝐫𝐢𝐭𝐭𝐞𝐧 𝐏𝐨𝐫𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧 ୨୧ 1.3K words!

1K EVENT MASTERLIST

Twitter

Instagram

♡ liked by mclaren, maxverstappen1, oscarpiastri, and others

f1 Lando wins it in Miami, winning his first race! Congratulations! 👏

tagged ; landonorris

3,219 comments

username1 LANNNDOOOO

username2 lando has finally landed 🥹

username3 HE FINALLY DID IT!!

carlosainz55 congratulations cabrón! Welcome to the winners side 😉

→ landonorris glad to finally be part of the club 👊

maxverstappen1 lando nowins no more 👏

→ landonorris haha funny 😒

georgerussel63 congrats mate!!

username5 has anyone noticed that y/n hasen’t liked or commented? :(

username6 ik!! usually she is always the first or second person to do both whenever he gets podium…

username7 no because did anyone see how y/n was staring at Lando with his trophy??

→ username8 I THOUGHT I WAS THE ONLY ONE. → username9 she looked at him like he was ripping her heart out 🙁 → username10 I mean, y/n has been in f1 for what, 2 more years than him and still no win. I know it's just eating her up inside. → username11 I hope she gets her win soon and shuts up the misogynists. → username12 it sucks that the team did a absolute shit strategy when the safety car stopped her and made lando gain her stop.. but I’m still happy for him!!

y/n_l/n

♡ liked by visacashapprb, yukitsunoda, sophiafloersch and others

y/n_l/n Miami ? Done ✅

tagged ; visacashapprb

2,350 comments

username13 she didn’t even post her podium photo :(

username14 if i were her i wouldn’t either.

username15 can she idk, be happy for lando?

→ username16 no way you are suggesting this girl be happy after she lost her chance to overtake lando because of the safety car, taking away what may be the second woman to win a f1 race next to Desiré Wilson, after years of misogyny, and men telling her she doesn’t have a place in motorport along with other women. → username17 god how i love you @ username16. SOMONE ACTUALLY USES THEIR BRAIN

visacashapprb wonderful work as per usual!

→ username18 for someone who has been in f1 for 8 years? hell no. → username19 someone is jelly → username20 they aren’t jealous they are just stating a fact 😂 → username21 the fact that they are saying how she should be winning stuff after 8 years? → username22 obviously. since she came she hasn’t won anything → username23 lance stroll, kevin magnussen, and nico hulkenburg are calling buddy and they are saying your misogyny is showing. 💀 → username24 LMAOOAOA YOU GO @ username23

Twitter

In Person

Saying that the end of the race was a disappointment was an understatement. For the past eight years, it only felt like the world was out to get you.

The constant criticism, misogyny, the occasional car failures, Lance Stroll's grotesque driving skills, and now, Lando winning his first Grand Prix but with the cost of you losing your position due to a shitty strategy mistake. It's frustrating, to say the least.

Being in love with Lando has its ups and downs. And as of right now? A hard low. As his partner, you want to kiss him all over his sunkissed face, going over each birthmark with tenderness. Congratulate him. Tell him how proud you are of him for finally achieving what he has been aiming for years. Ruffle those chestnut curls that you love dearly as you both stand on the podium, covered in sticky champagne as the fizzy liquid cascades over you, creating a tingling sensation on your skin you both embrace, the rainbows of confetti dancing in the air to the ground, trophy in his hands.

Yet, as a driver, you despise him. That haunting smile that glances over now and then, that sterling silver trophy dazzling in the light, blinding you as if it were the shining teeth of someone laughingly mocking you. God, how you hated it.

After closing the door to the driver's room, you swiftly remove the carbon fiber helmet, peeling off the balaclava that clings to my face, leaving my hair matted against my skin. With a surge of frustration, you glance angrily at the helmet before flinging the helmet to the ground, the sound reverberating through the room. Your breathing quivers as you gaze at the floor before ultimately slumping against the wall adjacent to the door, back against it. Running a hand through your damp hair, you rub my temple, feeling the weight of the day's events.

How did you get to this point?

“Where in the world have you been, you muppet? You just up and left after the national anthems.” Lando's voice broke you out of your trance as he stood by the door, remembering you didn't lock the door. "I didn't even get to spray the champagne on you like usual." He adds with a frown.

"Not now, Lando." You stated looking down at your hands as you picked the skin around your nails to cope. His face still held a frown, yet he raised a brow at your tone.

"Not now?" He repeats, almost confused by your comment. "What's wrong? Talk to me."

"I said not now, Lando," You repeat, my voice growing more insistent. "I just need some space right now."

Lando's expression softens as he takes a step closer, concern evident in his eyes. "Hey, come on. You can talk to me. I know today didn't go as planned, but we can work through this together."

My frustration boils over, and I finally look up to meet his gaze. "You don't get it, do you? This could have been my chance. My chance to finally prove that I belong here. Actually- no, not me, but every woman. That we won't be not some- some girls here for some representation to make F1 seem better but to show that we belong here! That we are as good as men! And that shitty strategy screwed me over, and now it seems like I am a shit driver..." You snap in exasperation.

“I never tried to say that I understand.” Lando glared. His expression hardens, and he takes a step back, hurt evident in his eyes. "You know that's not true. You're an incredibly talented driver, and one bad race doesn't define you."

You scoff, feeling the weight of his words but unable to fully accept them. "Easy for you to say. This ‘one bad race’ has been multiple races. You've had your moment of glory today. You got the lavish celebration you’ve been wanting.“

Lando shakes his head, his frustration creeping into his voice. "This isn't about me. It's about us! I want you to succeed just as much as I want to succeed. We’re a team, even if we are on other racing teams. But pushing me away and shutting me out won't solve anything. What’s with all this?“

“Don’t you get it, Lando?! You’re perfect now! You have fans who love you, you have a secure seat, and you have a win now Lando! All you need is a championship! You don’t have people telling you that you don’t belong here because you have talent. You have people who support you even when your team makes a stupid mistake and they still defend you! The second I do something wrong, even when it's team orders, I'm belittled and told to go back to do my "role" as a housewife! God, I can't even get time to be with my boyfriend or friends before getting screamed at by middle-aged men that I'm a 'grid fucker' and that I had sex to get to where I am!"

Lando’s face falls at your words, a mix of offense and hurt flashing in his eyes. “You think I don’t understand pressure? I get it, alright? I get that it’s different for you, and it’s unfair. But pushing everyone away, pushing me away, isn’t the answer.”

You stand up, your body tense with the weight of your frustration and sadness. “I’m not pushing you away, Lando. I’m trying to cope with the fact that no matter what I do, it’s never enough. And seeing you succeed, seeing everyone praise you, it just… it just makes it harder.”

Lando steps closer, his voice softer now. “I want to help you, but I can’t if you won’t let me in. We’re supposed to be in this together. Isn’t that what we promised each other?”

You look at him, your heart aching at the sight of his earnest expression. “It’s not that simple. I can’t keep pretending that everything’s okay when it’s not. And I can’t stand beside you, smiling, when I feel like I’m drowning.”

He reaches out to touch your arm, but you pull away. “Please, don’t. I need to find my way through this, Lando. And I can’t do that if I’m constantly comparing myself to you.”

Lando’s eyes widen with realization. “You’re breaking up with me.”

A lump forms in your throat, tears welling up. “Don't put it like that..” I start. Lando tries to talk but I beat him to it. "I'm... not necessarily breaking up with you. It's more of a... "Goodbye"."

"That's technically still breaking up with me," Lando mutters, a tiny, barely noticeable smile cracking through onto his lips at the light attempt at a joke to ease the growing tension. I let out a tearful giggle.

Lando’s smile crumples into a frown and he takes a shaky breath. “I love you. I don’t want to lose you.”

“You aren't losing me... I love you too,” you whisper, your voice breaking. “But right now, love isn’t enough. I need to stand on my own two feet, without always feeling like I’m in your shadow.”

He looks away, blinking rapidly, trying to hide the growing tears in his greenish-blue eyes. “This isn’t how I wanted today to end. I wanted today to be happy. For us both.”

“Neither did I,” you say softly, placing a hand on his cheek, moving his head to look at you while you skim your fingers over his birthmarks. “But sometimes, things don’t go as planned.”

There’s a long, painful silence between you, filled with all the things left unsaid. Finally, Lando nods, his eyes shining with unshed tears, leaning over to press a tender kiss onto your forehead.

“Goodbye, then,” Lando whispers.

In response, you bend forward, placing your lips against his own, kissing him softly, both our lips brushing lightly as if savoring the moment for what may be the last time experiencing such a feeling.

“Goodbye, my British sweetheart.” You replied, voice narrowly above a whisper.

𝐀/𝐍 2 : Ending tbh is kinda cringey but oh well it felt right in the moment 😫

308 notes · View notes

ashwhowrites · 2 days

Note

Would it be okay if you could write deaf!reader x Eddie where she’s new at school and meets Eddie. The rest can be up to you. Thank you xxx

I have never written a deaf character before so the representation might be off, but I gave it a shot! I know in movies and shows, sometimes they can talk and sometimes it is just sign language, but I went with writing notes to make it romantic. I hope this is what you wanted and you enjoy it. Thank you for requesting 🫶🏻

I wrote a scene with a guitar amp and it was so hard to keep this story sweet and fluff and not turn it into smut

No words

It didn't take long for the new girl to catch Eddie's eyes. She was cute and seemed to be in her own little world. Eddie admired that she never seemed to care what happened around her.

He wanted to talk to her, but he wasn't the best at making a first impression. He wasn't the best at saying what he meant out loud. He was a writer. He wrote countless songs because he knew how to write down his feelings, not say them.

She was in a few of his classes, and he sat behind her. He watched as she walked into class, admiring her style. He assumed she was shy since she never spoke. She sat silently in class and kept to herself.

Eddie ripped out a piece of paper from a notebook he never touched. He scrambled down a message, then folded it. He took a deep breath and reached forward to tap her on the shoulder.

She turned around confused. She looked as the boy handed her something. She grabbed the note as she examined him.

He was mad cute. He had dark curly long hair, warm brown eyes, and pink lips. He wore a red and black flannel with dark jeans and dirty sneakers. She wished she could just stare but she didn't want to be creepy. She turned around and unfolded the paper.

"I'm Eddie, what's your name?"

She smiled to herself as she wrote her name underneath his. With a smile. She turned around and handed it back to him.

Eddie was shocked she wrote back to him. Before he could stare at her any longer, she turned around. Finally being that close to her face he realized she was prettier than ever.

His stomach fluttered as he saw her name and a tiny smile. Pleased that she didn't ignore him or write a mean message back.

"Well Y/N welcome to Hawkins High School. It sucks ass. The town is a little better, if you want a tour or anything I'm available."

She smiled as she felt a tap on her shoulder again, the teacher focused on the board as she turned. Her face burned as her fingers touched his as she took the note.

Eddie watched as her body moved up and down as she shook her head. He smiled as it seemed like she was laughing to herself. She felt nervous about saying yes, but she also didn't want to say no.

"Only if you promise to show me a great burger place ;)"

She waited until the teacher wasn't paying attention as she turned around and gave him the note. She turned around fast and Eddie opened it. He smiled and patted himself on the back.

The bell rang and she began to pack up. Eddie took a deep breath and walked in front of her desk.

"Hey Y/N," she looked up as she felt his presence. She focused on his lips. "Want to go after school today?"

She smiled and nodded

"Sweet, I'll meet you at the front?" he asked, he felt his face burn as she leaned close and stared at his lips. Her eyes squinted as she fully focused.

She nodded and smiled again. Waving goodbye as she walked to her next class.

Eddie waited outside the front door. He was nervous but excited. Befriending the new kid wasn't something Eddie ever did, but there was something about her that he wanted to know.

He smiled as she came into view, she waved as she got closer.

They didn't talk as they headed to his van. A couple students whispered as the two passed. And some students began to yell "FREAK!"

He felt comforted by the fact she didn't seem to notice it. And if she did, she ignored it.

Eddie started the van and turned down his radio, he remembered how loud he had it blaring this morning. He smiled over at her and she smiled back.

It didn't take long to make it to the burger place. The ride was a tad awkward as she didn't really talk, it more was of Eddie talking to himself.

They got seated in a booth, Eddie sat across from her as he nervously flipped through the menu.

He felt a soft tap on his menu, and he looked up.

Y/N smiled as she handed him a piece of paper.

He took the paper and read it, his eyebrows scrunched.

"I should probably tell you that I am deaf, so I'll be staring at your lips to communicate with you. Also, can you order for me?"

Eddie smiled and nodded. He snatched her pen and quickly wrote his own message.

She happily read it as he wrote

"No problem, I've been told I talk too much so maybe you not hearing me talk is a win. I will order for you, what would you like?"

Her heart raced as he moved on from the topic like it didn't change anything.

"Bacon cheeseburger, fries, and chocolate shake. Thank you for this, I'm excited to get to know you better and would love to watch you talk for hours :)"

~~~

The first date went amazing in Eddie's eyes. He didn't mind writing down his words, he enjoyed watching her reactions as she read the words. They ate, and he made her laugh over and over.

He knew he wanted to ask her on another date, he wanted to ask her out every night of the week.

She waved as she walked into class, Eddie gave her a flirty nod that made her dash for her seat faster.

He grabbed a piece of paper and began writing but she slid a note right on top of his.

He looked up as she turned around.

He opened it as the teacher wasn't looking

"Date #2? I saw an ice cream place on our tour yesterday."

Eddie came prepared for this date, he had a notebook and all different kinds of pens.

She waited on a bench outside as he ordered their ice cream. He prayed he'd make it to her before dropping any on the ground.

She smiled as he sat down next to her and handed her the ice cream. The first few minutes were silent as they tried to eat the ice cream before it began to melt.

They asked many questions about each other yesterday, so Eddie tried to think of new things to talk about.

"You look beautiful"

She felt her cheeks warm as she read his handwriting, she wrote just below his message. He watched as she wrote,

"Thank you. You are pretty cute too"

"You have a little something on your cheek,"

She read the note and was confused. She looked up at Eddie and she felt a cold glob on her cheek.

She watched as Eddie's face morphed into a smile as he laughed behind his hand. She smiled and grabbed a chunk of her ice cream, she watched as Eddie's smile dropped.

"No no, I'm sorry!" he said as she read his lips. He got up to run but she was fast behind him. He didn't make it far before she jumped on his back, his arms catching her legs as she smeared her ice cream right on his nose.

He let her down as he laughed, then she joined in.

"Uncool," he teased once he faced her. She just smiled and shrugged.

He smiled as he leaned in, his hand on her cheek as he wiped off the ice cream with his thumb.

Her breathing got faster as he looked into her eyes, his soft touch on her cheek made her heart race.

"Can I kiss you?"

He felt his stomach turn with nerves as he waited for her to read his lips. He got even more nervous when she blinked but didn't say anything.

He wanted to kiss her? She had never kissed anyone before and she wanted to tell him how nervous she was but she couldn't walk away.

She grabbed his hand and softly used her finger to write letters. He concentrated as he watched her fingers spell something out.

"N.E.R.V.O.U.S"

"Ner-nervous? You are nervous?" he asked, she watched his lips and then nodded. He cupped her jaw with his free hand, watching as she took a deep breath.

"Me too," he whispered, she read his lips and then saw his lips moving closer to her.

He leaned in and pressed his lips against hers. It took a few seconds for her to shake off the nerves and kiss him back. She wasn't sure where to put her hands so she softly placed them on his chest.

He tasted of chocolate chip ice cream. And his lips felt amazing against hers. The kiss got better as they grew both confident.

He pulled away with a beaming smile, the ice cream on his nose transferred to her face.

"Let's get cleaned up," he laughed, she nodded and followed behind. Butterflies in her stomach as she felt her lips.

~~~

After many more dates, they became an official couple. Eddie's friends made sure she was comfortable and talked slowly so she could read their lips. They didn't mind reading and writing to communicate. It was clear that there was a connection between her and Eddie.

Eddie adjusted and took a beginner class in sign language. He was proud to show what he learned after every class. Sometimes he taught her new words.

One thing Y/N hated was that she couldn't share music with Eddie. She learned that was a huge part of his life from the beginning, and it made her sad that she could never hear him sing or play.

That doesn't mean Eddie ever excluded her. He'd have her sit next to his guitar amp, hook it all up, and let her feel the music as it played through. He'll never forget how excited she was when she could feel the music against her hand.

And that's what she did at his shows. She sat front row and placed her hands on the speakers.

He did it all because he loved her...he just hasn't said it yet.

Tags!

@bmunson86 @mxcheese @ladymunson @michaelfuckinglangdon @z0mbie-blah @biittersweet @mirrorsstuff @somethingvicked @micheledawn1975 @ago-godance @magnificantmermaid @tlclick73 @hargrovesswifee @cityofidek @silky-luxe @lokiofasgard616 @loving-and-dreaming @eddiemunsonsbitch69 @thegemaqua @ashlynnkennedy @strangerthingsstories5255 @harringt8ns @pleasinghellfire @whoscamila @stusdollface93 @gretavankleep37 @bellaisswagger @arlxt

#eddie munson x reader #eddie munson #eddie munson fanfic #eddie stranger things #eddie munson x female reader #eddie munson request #eddie munson fluff x reader #eddie munson angst #eddie munson angst x reader #ashwhowrites #eddie munson x deaf!reader

289 notes · View notes

delirious-donna · 1 day

Text

I Will Possess Your Heart [Nanami Kento]

an: I started thinking about Curse User!Higuruma and naturally that led to me writing... Curse User!Nanami (why am I like this?). I haven't explored this AU for him before so please be kind <3

pairing: Nanami Kento x female reader

warnings: dub-con (reader is willing but the warning is there so take it how you wish), Curse User AU, slight yandere behaviours, toxic traits, spanking (with open palm), unprotected sex, thoughts of baby trapping, breeding kink

Masterlist

For weeks you had been on edge. Conscious of the impossible presence that seemed to lurk in every shadowy recess, the malicious whisper of laughter on every breath of wind and the scent of someone who was long gone. Were you afraid? You should be, but you weren’t.

In the back of your mind, if the faint traces of Cursed Energy that you sensed before disappearing as quickly as they emerged were real, it meant that he wasn’t dead, that he hadn’t been captured and executed as you had been informed.

Satoru swore he was dead, that you should put him out of your mind and move on. Especially after his betrayal, after his bloody rampage that took out more sorcerers from the three big families than any Curse User in the past twenty years. Yet, you loved him. Grew up standing right beside him until…

Kento snapped.

You shook off the feeling of unease that had followed you around all day like a personal spectre, finally kindling the sense of security that came with approaching your apartment. It was new to you, decked out in the highest-grade security equipment that money—specifically Jujutsu High’s money—could buy.

Whilst it didn’t quite feel like home, at least you were protected. You waved at the guard posted in the entrance hall, smiling when they blushed and turned their eyes from you, a scowl creasing their brow. Shaking your head in humorous exasperation, you travelled the remaining distance to your front door with the tension of the day melting from your shoulders.

Little did you realise that the precious bubble of safety you believed yourself to be protected by was about to pop like a thorn piercing an overinflated balloon.

Kento observed from the shadows, watching, seething. They’d moved you. Lied to you. Kept his name from caressing your tongue, and he had more than had enough. He hated the games played by the higher-ups of the Jujutsu world, hated the politics and strategic alliances of the big three families which were no more than thinly veiled facades to cover the knife in the back that was around every corner. Power play far worse than the corporate drudgery he had tried to escape to, though he was ashamed to admit how long it took for him to finally open his eyes to it all.

They deserved what had transpired. He would ensure that the pain he inflicted would only be the first taste of his retribution. Hate was too emotional a word to use for those he considered to be less than human, and it was his mission to be the one to eliminate them all. Perhaps, Suguru had been right all along.

You were the exception, the one and only person he wanted to protect from the white-hot fury that poured through his veins like magma spewing from an erupting volcano, its path steady and devastating. He was still furious, and rightly so. The second you turned your face from his, he felt the last shreds of his bruised heart wither in his chest. You turned to Satoru and Shoko instead of moving towards him. You chose to remain in a world that cast him out, that actively tried to hunt and bring him down.

He refused to believe that you had picked them over him. No. You were bewitched by the six eyes, hoodwinked by a false narrative that they were the good ones, and he was the monster. Kento couldn’t blame you, he had believed the lies for just as long and it was only now that he stood on the outside, peering in, that he could recognise the lies for what they were.

It would be okay. He would enlighten you. After he punished you.

The front door unlocked with a quiet snick; the interior bathed in cool darkness that held no hint of the impending situation. Your fingers instinctively found the light switch, flicking it once and then twice when the bulb didn’t flare to life as it should. Click click click. Had there been a power outage? No, the neighbouring apartments were as well-lit as normal.

Something crunched underfoot when you stepped deeper into your apartment, and that was when you realised the trap you had fallen into. Only then did your nose inhale the warm scent which had plagued you for all these long weeks, the rich aroma of expensive coffee mixed with leather and spices you couldn’t name. Only now did it intertwine with coppery, bitter notes of blood and the unforgettable reek of death. An impossibly hard body slammed into your back, sending you tumbling forward and only just catching yourself before your knees slammed into what you now knew was the broken glass of the bulb above.

The bodily contact lasted all of one second before he disappeared again. Your eyes had yet to adjust to the pure darkness that no longer felt comforting, and fear kept you from bathing yourself in the brilliance of your Cursed Energy, certain it would only help him target you all the quicker. Instead, you slapped a hand over your mouth to silence the sound of your breathing, crouching into a defensive position and fumbling forward. You weren’t as intimately familiar with the layout of this apartment as you were with the one you had lived in prior. All you could do was control the pulse of fear thrumming through your body and ignore the competing reaction that spoke of hungry anticipation.

Kento smirked, head canting sideways whilst he watched you flail pathetically. If you wanted him dead, then he would already be a corpse on the floor, but that would never be the case, would it? His eyes had long adjusted to the absence of light, gaze following you around the room as you bumped into furniture and flinched at every touch. He could smell the terror escaping your pores. He could almost taste the frantic beat of your pulse on his tongue. Patience wasn’t a new concept to him, but right now... he found his fingers flexed deep into his thighs.

He waited until the kitchen island was at your back, stepping with silent footsteps around you and leaning back against the granite. You moved in a slow, perfect circle with your arm outstretched. Your fingertips came within an inch of grazing his abdomen, but alas, his calculations were as perfect as ever. When your back was to him once more, both arms shot out to tug you with one forceful effort into his chest. You struggled; arms pinned by your sides, but his hold was impenetrable as it always had been.

“Kento?”

Kento laughed and even to his ear it sounded cold and devoid of emotion. “A silly question,” he answered. His voice was rough, unused for many days and the effect resulted in a ripple of something unspeakable down your spine, dripping—dripping—until you swallowed harshly and tried to twist your head around to see him.

“I think not... that luxury will be earned. I didn’t take you for such a silly girl,” Kento mocked, tightening his hold on your biceps until you squirmed in painful discomfort. “But then again, I didn’t take you for someone who would abandon me, and I was proven wrong there.”

You felt the temperature of his body skyrocket. His essence crept into you in every imaginable way, tendrils of his fiery anger licked against your bones and whilst you wanted to sob at this unexpected reunion, the rational part of your brain roared to life. He left you! He abandoned his friends and colleagues. He broke the hearts of the students who looked up to him, and yours... your heart hadn’t even begun to mend. The relief you should have felt for knowing what that poor shell of a heart had done all along, that he wasn’t dead, was a secondary reaction.

“I didn’t abandon you. How dare you say that... I thought you were dead!”

“Did you now? I guess I should add stupid to your list of transgressions, or perhaps gullible would be more fitting. Since when did you take everything the six eyes tells you as gospel?” Kento gripped your chin with finger and thumb, the scent of his skin so close to your nose that the salty tang invaded effortlessly. With one fluid movement, he wrenched your head around and pressed a hot kiss to your lips.

The action was so unexpected that you gasped into the depths of his mouth, lips parted in surprise and Kento refused to miss the opportunity to let his tongue curl past your teeth and stroke along the pink muscle he had long admired and desired above all else. He tasted like coffee, nothing to be surprised by, given his penchant for the most expensive French roast. What did blindside you, aside from the kiss itself, was the sweet caramel that chased those bitter notes. Even now, the mellow caramel burst upon your tastebuds and brought an abundance of saliva to your mouth. The kiss was heady, all teeth and tongues, until it ended abruptly, and you were shoved forward.

It was a well-aimed push to propel you over the seat of the kitchen stool, and he smiled when he heard the air knock loose from your lungs. Before you could brace your arms onto the plush leather padding and try to stand, he moved up and let his heavy palm rest at the back of your neck, squeezing firmly. “Hold onto the legs of the stool, let’s see if you can redeem yourself.”

Did you wish to redeem yourself? Did you even believe you had anything to atone for? Shockingly, your hands trailed lower until your fingers curled around the cool brushed metal. Your heart was in your throat. Tears threatened to sting your eyes but only the desire to grit your teeth and prove that you were still the woman he had once trusted above all others outweighed your loyalty to the people trying to protect you. Keeping you in the dark was no protection, it was no life to lead when the man at your back no longer looked upon you with that crinkle of warm hazel eyes that you loved.

“There’s a good girl. I knew you’d come around to my way of thinking with the right incentive,” he cooed whilst leaning over the curve of your spine and planting one wet kiss to the juncture between your neck and shoulder. With his lips so close to your ear, a rumble of laughter was followed by words you never dreamed of hearing from him. “Imagine how receptive you’ll be when I fit my cock in your pretty little cunt.”

Happy with your position, and certain you weren’t going to go crashing to the floor, he let his hand loosen from your neck and traversed the path of your spine. His fingertips grazed over every bump and ridge beneath the thin material of your blouse until his palm found your backside. He pawed at you once, filling his broad hand with the meat of you and imagining himself doing this to you on both sides without the barrier of clothing in his way whilst his heavy cock sawed between the cleft of your cheeks. There would be time for that, all the time in the world if he had his way.

Your eyes had finally adjusted to the lack of light, the shapes of your apartment now visible and yet you chose to squeeze your eyes shut to it all. It heightened your remaining senses, the even breathing of your captor injected with muffled little noises of satisfaction when you complied without question. His hand rounded your hip, kneading you before searching for the button and zipper of your trousers. At that, your eyes flew open, and a startled squeak escaped your tight throat. It didn’t deter him—oh no—if anything he delighted in your reaction, slowing the descent of your zipper so that every scrape of metal against metal as the teeth released tore at your nerves until they were frayed.

“Lift,” he commanded, crouched low at your feet and tapping your ankle until you did as requested and your trousers were divested of you completely. The air-conditioning was conveniently not on, leaving your bare legs to feel prickly and clammy with the warm air permeating the room and worsened by the heat of Kento’s hands as they slid from heel to backside.

He hummed when they reached the waistband of the black thong which did so very little to cover your modesty. You wriggled, experiencing the weight of his hungry stare and clenching your thighs together in the hopes of hiding the small yet very obvious damp spot on the cotton. “If I didn’t know any better, I would have said you were expecting my visit… you wouldn’t let anyone else see these, would you?”

Rough calluses scraped your soft derriere, toying with the fabric that disappeared between your cheeks and cupped your beautiful sex. You mewled out a ‘no’, readjusting your hold on the legs given how sweaty your palms had become and basked in the answering grunt of appreciation when your backside swayed in nothing but pure temptation. Kento wanted to rip apart the threads holding him back from you, to take out his cock that had been pulsing for release since before you even entered the apartment and force your walls to accommodate him. Fuck… he would envelop you in him—only him.

Rub his scent right into your untainted soul until it was soiled just like he wanted.

Paint your womb with his seed with the chance of it taking. His eyes rolled over at the thought alone.

Later.

He would see you ruined beneath him soon enough, he merely needed to get your punishment over. Kento needed to hear your apology—heartfelt and sobbed through a veil of tears. Without warning his palm reared back and with the sound of a whipcrack he brought it down against your right cheek. You struggled, bucked at the impact that forced your eyes to bulge and your throat to convulse. Only his palm at the middle of your back kept you in position.

The pain was not as immediate as you assumed it would be. It was more the startle of having it happen so unexpectedly that kicked you into action, on the heels was the warm tingle of your backside. Pulses of pain moved outwardly from the impact site like a stone causing ripples on a calm lake. “Ken—"

“Uh uh. This is not time for speaking,” he chided with a click of tongue against perfectly white teeth and a tone that silenced you instantly. “This is the least you could endure after you ripped my heart out of my chest and crushed it beneath your heel. Ten. That will suffice, and then we can converse like proper adults. Until then, the only words out of those pretty lips are going to be the number we are on.”

He didn’t even wait for your reply, knowing that you would take whatever he chose to gift you like a champ. You were strong, always had been, and this was nowhere near enough to break your spirit. Kento didn’t want that, he wanted the real you that he had fallen for all those years ago as an emotionally stunted young man. You would come to understand his point of view when presented enough evidence and he had stacks of that to show you. Not now. Later, he thought again. So much had to wait but patience was his forte.

Standing to his impressive height, he skimmed his palm over your tender backside and let out a bark of laughter when you tensed, waiting for what was to come. He waited until you relaxed, listening to your breathing mellow before delivering a short, hard smack to your left side. “Good girl,” he murmured thickly when you hissed out a ‘two’ from between clenched teeth.

Kento was painfully hard; the length of his cock pressed stubbornly down the leg of his trousers to lay trapped against his thigh. His every inhale was like a knife to his groin, every squeeze of the muscles in your backside was a torture that he was inflicting upon himself. He twitched, precum dribbling down his thigh and turning the golden hairs of his legs sticky and wet. He would see this through. It was for the greater good, of that, he was convinced.

The repetition was agony. A vicious cycle that felt like it would never end though you had a target so close yet so far. A wealth of salty tears sprung from your eyes, falling to the floor to gather as a pitiful little puddle given the gravity of your head and body. Blood rushed through your ears; the pounding of your pulse nearly loud enough to drown out the weight of the smacks levelled against your arse. The plump tissue ached endlessly, throbbing to its own beat and it left you trapped inside your head.

This was Kento—your Kento—delivering a punishment he deemed necessary, and you poked at his earlier words. If you were honest with yourself, you had suspected that the attraction between you was a mutual one and that the feelings ran deeper than either of you was willing to admit. You pondered how you would have felt if he had been the one to turn from you, taking the morality of who was wrong and right out of the equation, you would have been devastated.

Noiselessly, you wept for the connection you had lost all those months ago. You should be repulsed by the blood that stained his hands, but you couldn’t find it in you when all you wished to do was pull those bloodied hands to your mouth and suck the fingers between your lips. How badly you wanted to hear him groan in pleasure, to cup your face and drag his thumb over the swell of your bottom lip until it bounced back into place.

“Ten…”

Kento’s harsh breathing became apparent, the sound building in your ears whilst you dared not move an inch. Sweat caked your skin—hot and uncomfortable—it slid over the natural dips and curves of your frame, and you knew your face was warm enough to cook eggs. Your fingers slid against the metal legs resulting in a loud squeak and you winced… waiting, suspended in a moment that couldn’t last forever, the spell would be broken but by whom?

The rustle of clothing popped the bubble you were both suspended in, the telltale jangle of a metal belt buckle and stammered curses brought your focus behind you, your head turning to find Kento with an expression you had never seen before and undressed from the waist down. He looked like he was ready to explode. A thick vein popped from his temple, throbbing against the etched scowl and snarled mouth. You moaned and his eyes snapped to you, lips curling back from teeth to show you the ferocity firing through his veins.

Without a word, Kento moved you, so you were bent over the kitchen island, and you sighed from the reprieve of the awkward position you had been forced to hold. The buttons of your blouse skittered across the kitchen tiles when two powerful hands fisted either side of them and ripped it open. His mouth and hands were everywhere and all at once.

“You’ve no idea how long I’ve wanted to do this,” he admitted. Wet kisses decorated the side of your neck, lips moulding over your pulse and humming happily at the frantic rhythm that mirrored his own. The brush of his bare thighs against yours elicited a guttural groan, taking the opportunity to reach back and scratch at the rough undercut at his nape, fingers delving into his hair and pressing him deeper into the crook of your neck whilst he marked you as his.

“…’m sorry, Kento. Please forgive me,” you sobbed brokenly, completely torn between burning joy and icy regret. An urgent hand pressed between your legs, thick fingers prodding and feeling the sopping fabric slick with arousal and sculpted to the molten heat of your swollen lips.

“Fuck. Save your apologies. I’ll hear them later, preferably whilst you’re gagging around my cock.”

Your backside rippled from the impact of his pelvis slamming into you, pulling a pained hiss from your lips. Kento chuckled darkly, the heat of your abused flesh warming that part of his soul that refused comfort until this very moment. He had no time to spare to remove your underwear, having used up all his patience in the measured delivery of his hand against your perfect behind. Ignoring the sharp prickling sensation radiating in his palm, he simply shoved them aside until he could push his heavy cock through. He wanted to ask if you were this wet because of the spanking or if you were merely pleased to see him, but the beastly part of his brain was firmly in the driver’s seat.

He was merciless; kicking your feet apart to widen your stance, tapping the fat head of his cock against your swollen clit and roaring in triumph when you pushed back against him. One second, he was teasing you, the next he was notched at your cunt and shunting himself forward. Kento gripped your hip, pulling you back whilst he worked inside, and the stretch was exactly what you expected. Every inch tickled your insides, thick veins stark and massaged by gummy walls made to take him.

“That’s it… there we go. God, look at you. Your pretty pussy is sucking me in… mm, more? All yours, sweetheart.” He crooned his lust-roughened rhetoric, and all you could do was hold onto the counter so your knees wouldn’t give out entirely. They shook with the force of his thrusts whilst he held you so tightly as if he worried you would slip through his fingers again. Not a fucking chance. You were his, and he wanted you to know that.

“Mine,” he growled, spittle flecking your shoulder as he bent over your body and bit into your tender skin. You howled, a mixture of pleasure and pain lighting up your insides. Stars winked in and out of your vision and you danced on your tippy toes as an orgasm near forced him out of you. If not for his determination to remain in the heart of your body, abusing the soft tissue near your belly, you would have expelled him with the force of your release.

Kento crowed like a maniacal king. Fucking you right through your high without a care for the overstimulation that left you whimpering and drooling onto the granite countertop. Your cheek pressed against the cool surface, eyes flickering between open and shut as you fought the desire to pass out. The pressure of your pulsing walls, the suction of your cunt drawing him back inside each time he pulled back was his undoing, and although he had planned to cum down your throat so he could see your tear-stained face, he couldn’t pull out. His balls drew close to his body, the familiar drip of impending release stirring at the small of his back but so much more intense than ever before. His head was thrown back at the first spurt of seed exploding outward to knock up against your fertile womb with only thoughts of what it might be like to have your soft stomach grow with his child on his mind.

Never had he produced so much, and he wondered if he had been saving it up for you. A ridiculous thought had he been in his right mind, but you both knew that wasn’t the case. His hands gentled, bruises forming the pattern of his fingertips marked your hips and waist. He smiled, the first true smile in what felt like forever. Soon he was laughing, and the jostle made you moan out, his softening cock twitching in your cunt and tickling you.

“I think I am more than ready to hear your apology, little dove.”

And you were more than ready to give it to him, after all… Kento possessed your heart.

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